Toxic
by MMB
Summary: What is Formula 837A, and why are members of the team searching for Jarod disappearing?
1. Prologue

Chapter 1 - Prologue

The Centre – Tower

Blue Cove, Delaware

Thursday, May 18, 2001

10:30 AM

The sweeper standing just outside the elevator doors watched impassively as the diminutive woman in a white lab coat emerged, her arm safely in the grasp of one of his fellow sweepers. He continued to watch impassively as the woman was escorted with about as much gentility and civility as most sweepers were capable of down the short hallway and up to the secretary's desk in front of the etched glass doors to the Chairman's office.

Dr. Marjory Bates gazed all around herself, curious and more than a little apprehensive.

She had never been to the Tower in all of her years of employment at the Centre; and from what she'd heard from cafeteria scuttlebutt, being called to the Tower wasn't necessarily considered a 'good thing.' When the call had come that morning, she had no idea why, after all this time, the top management of the Centre would be bothering to pay attention to her and her little experiments. She wasn't behind on her reports – hadn't committed any breach of protocol or regulations that she knew of – and if she had, she was certain she'd have long since heard about it from her direct superiors.

After all, the head of the Biogenics Department himself had hired her seven years earlier, immediately after Stanford Press had published her dissertation on the effect of varying potencies of psychotropic drugs on personality over time. He'd given her a laboratory, equipment, more than adequate funding, and the directive to continue her research into psychotropic drugs – to find ways to increase their potency and/or increase the amount of influence that could be asserted over a personality over time while under their influence – and then turned her loose with virtually no oversight whatsoever. The only thing he'd asked was that she submit quarterly reports on her research – which she had meticulously supplied over the years since without fail – and told her that provided that research continued to show steady progress in some sort of direction, she would be left to her own devices.

And she had been – until now.

Seated at the massive secretary's desk was a prim woman, her mousy hair meticulously coifed and her hands recently manicured. She looked up into the face of the small woman with long and curly dark hair held back by a single scrunchie with the same kind of bland impassivity as all the security men had exhibited and then picked up the telephone. "Your ten-thirty appointment is here," she announced to whoever was on the other end of the line, and then nodded and hung up. "You can go in," she directed, making a small gesture in the direction of the etched glass doors.

The chairman's office was much larger than Bates' laboratory, with a huge picture window overlooking the broad expanse of grass and the ocean beyond. In a very comfortable-looking leather chair behind the massive carved desk sat a bald, diminutive man connected to an unseen oxygen tank somewhere behind the desk by clear plastic tubing and a nasal cannula. "Doctor Bates," the man wheezed, rising and extending his hand across the desk, "I'm William Raines, Chairman of the Centre. Please take a seat," he gestured graciously after giving her a very firm and dry handshake.

"Mr. Raines," Bates replied, taking her seat in the indicated chair, "I have to admit that I'm not exactly sure why I've been summoned to your office. Have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all, Doctor," Raines shook his head. "On the contrary, I have been following your reports on your progress with a great deal of interest – especially your most recent report."

"Oh?" Bates cast her mind back to exactly what stage she'd been at when she'd written the latest report, and then frowned in confusion. In her eyes, she'd reported a set-back –the indications she'd received from her tests on highly-trained simian subjects had indicated that her latest formula for a psychotropic drug had been too strong. The test subjects had suffered seizures and then, once they recovered, seemed to have lost every last conditioned response they'd ever possessed with no visible sign of the drug-induced amnesia being anything but permanent.

"Yes," the Chairman nodded enthusiastically. "I was wondering if you had any way of measuring the amnesia that was the consequence of Formula 837A?"

Bates blinked. "Uh… No sir," she answered hesitantly. "Other than what I reported – that conditioned responses that had been refreshed just prior to being subjected to the drug were completely lost – I haven't followed through on…"

"We would like you to do more in-depth testing of precisely that element of 837A before you continue on with your main line of research," Raines interrupted her. "We are making arrangements for you to be provided with human test subjects – subjects that you can interview extensively both before administering 837A and afterwards."

"But…" Bates was appalled. "If my deductions are correct, I would be erasing personality elements – and to what degree or severity that erasure would go, not to mention whether that erasure is permanent or not, is still unknown. Any human test subjects stand a reasonable chance of not being able to come out of the testing process whole again."

"The human test subjects you would have placed at your disposal are… how shall I put this… already very damaged individuals," Raines informed her in a disquietingly matter-of-fact tone. He took a deep and audible breath. "In many cases, we're hoping that the amnesia would be an improvement in their condition, rather than a degradation."

"Sir, this kind of experimentation is unethical at best," Bates protested. "For one thing, I haven't submitted any paperwork to the FDA for authorization for human experimentation yet – if I were caught…"

"Your project is being reclassified as we speak," the Chairman told her firmly, "and your security clearance is being adjusted to compensate and continue to allow you access. The security level you and your project will be at will preclude any possibility of discovery or prosecution."

Bates was now past shocked. "I really must protest! When I was hired, I was told that the Centre had determined that my research into psychotropics had great remedial value. I don't see how erasing whole parts of a living person's consciousness…"

"Your job is to follow instructions, Doctor Bates." Raines' voice had taken on a darker, grimmer tone even as he wheezed and pulled hard for air.. "You have operated for the past seven years essentially without any sense of purpose or direction other than pure scientific inquiry. Well, now that phase of this particular project is finished for the time being while you spend your considerable budget and resources in following the line of inquire that The Centre asks of you."

"837A is dangerous," Bates stood her ground. "Even a minute amount, if administered steadily over time, could have a serious impact on any living organism. I hesitate to think what the consequences would be if the formula were administered in higher dosages – or over a longer period of time. I'm fearful that the results would be disastrous. Please, sir – reconsider…"

"Dr. Bates, this is not a discussion," Raines barked at her finally. He took another gasping breath of oxygen. "You are not being offered an opportunity to negotiate in this matter. The Centre has determined that it is in our best interests to have a full idea of the potentials and drawbacks to 837A – and if you won't spearhead the research, I'm sure we have another in the Biogenics Department who would be willing to take your place…"

"No…" Bates backpedaled very quickly – the last thing she wanted was for this volatile and dangerous development of hers to fall into the hands of one of her fellow researchers who had less of a sense of ethics than she did. "I'll shelve what I was doing and begin the study you wish."

"Thank you, Doctor. Your cooperation was all that was required. That will be all." Raines opened a file folder on his desk and began reading, obviously dismissing her from his presence and his attention.

Dr. Marjorie Bates rose to her feet feeling as if she'd just been mugged and walked slowly toward the etched glass doors. The sweeper that had accompanied her from her lab to the Tower was waiting for her patiently in a chair near the secretary's desk, and he rose the moment she reappeared and moved to escort her back into the elevator and to the underground laboratory that was her regular workspace. He gazed at her face – pale and shocked-looking – with the same passivity as he'd had the entire time; whatever had been discussed within the Chairman's office was none of his concern.

oOoOo

"You were listening, I hope," Raines asked as the dark-haired man came through the adjoining door behind which he'd stood and listened to the entire conversation with the biogenicist. When the newcomer nodded, he continued, "What do you think?"

"I think if we leave the project in her hands, we'll be asking for trouble," Lyle answered seriously, "and we don't need trouble with 837A. We've got potential buyers lining up for a chance to get their hands on it already."

"Why is it all the really good researchers can't just do as they're told and not think about the ethics of their actions?" Raines burst out, pounding his desk in frustration.

"We COULD tell Dr. Bates that she can return to her former line of research and farm out 837A to someone else without her knowing about it," Lyle suggested with a smile.

Raines shook his head. "She's a smart one," he countered. "She'd figure it out. No, I'm afraid that Dr. Bates is going to have to have an accident eventually." He raised watery blue eyes to his erstwhile 'son'. "I want you and Willy to see to it when the time comes. Make sure she ends up in Renewal – where she'll be more than available when the time for human testing of 837A comes along."

Lyle smiled coldly. "Gotcha. How soon are you going to want this… accident… to happen?"

Raines shrugged. "Willy brought me some of her research notes last night, and she's got them in some sort of code. We'll need her to decipher at least the formula itself before we can remove her from the project."

"Can't our cryptographers break the code?" Lyle was astonished at the need to wait.

"I've already taken a sample to them – but none of them have had any luck in breaking it at all yet." Raines gave a tired smile. "All we need is just enough translated to provide a Rosetta Stone to crack the rest – and that we'll have to get directly from her, I suspect. The moment we have that, however…"

"What about just analyzing the formula and beginning from there?"

Raines shook his head. "We need to know what she's already discovered about this substance above and beyond what she's put in her report. Indications are that she's run some of the preliminary work we've wanted her to already – but it's impossible from her notes to know which part of the work has been done and what the results were."

Lyle nodded and made his way toward the adjoining door. "Just give me the word," he told the man who now claimed to be his father, "and I'll make sure Dr. Bates doesn't stand in the way of Centre profits again."

"Good." Raines reopened the file folder and stared at the incomprehensible gibberish that was the copy of her latest research notes – notes that Willy had removed, copied and returned to the lab last night after the good Dr. Bates had left for the day. He gazed down at the sigils and squiggles and had to fight not to slam his fist into the paper. Damn her for being too smart for her own good!

oOoOo

Dr. Marjorie Bates nodded her thanks to the sweeper and stepped from the elevator door and into the hallway of SL-19, heading toward the doorway three-quarters of the way down and on the left that was her private domain. For the past seven years, this lab and the equipment in it had been a second home to her – but all of that feeling of comfort and security had been wiped away with the sound of emphysemic wheezing and a directive to explore the most destructive formula to have ever emerged from her research.

Her eyes cast about the lab she'd left only the night before, noting the way the stack of notebooks that contained her chronicle of her experimentation was no longer in pristine condition – the top book had been moved, and the symmetry of the entire stack damaged. She smiled grimly. A whole lot of good looking at her notebooks was going to do. The alphabet was one she had developed as a child and never shared with anyone – and the language itself was a dialect of Chumash Indian spoken by the people at the Red Wing Reservation in the Coastal Mountains of California near where she'd grown up. She'd taken the language she'd learned from the grandmother of her best friend – an obscure language that very few bothered to master anymore – and given it her private alphabet to make it virtually undecipherable without her direct input.

The idea that someone would have tried to go behind her back to get at her notes was even more bothersome. From now on, she would write nothing down in English at all – all her notes would be in transliterated Chumash.

In the meanwhile, however, she was faced with the fact that the next step in what was now the direction of her project would be to brew up enough of 837A to be able to make a study of the effects of graduated doses of the drug. If she'd read Mr. Raines properly, she had no doubt that she soon would have word that her human guinea pigs were ready for her – and once more, she'd be expected to write reports that demonstrate progress being made.

It would take work to forget the blankness in the eyes of the little rhesus monkey that had been one of her favorites – taught to put its hands together to ask for food and then wait until permission had been given to carefully pull the treat from her pocket. After six weeks, the monkey had neither regained its memory of the little game – nor even remembered her well enough not to scream and cower like the others when she walked into the animal testing lab.

She didn't even want to think of that kind of blankness in the eyes of a human being…


	2. Now You See Him

Chapter 2 – Now You See Him…

(Nearly three years later)

The Centre – SL-5 – Sim Lab

Blue Cove, Delaware

10:30 AM

"Where do you want this, Miss Parker?"

The tall brunette looked up from the red notebook from Jarod's last lair that she and Sydney were studying to look at the burly sweeper with his hands full with the next box of "clues" that the elusive Pretender had left behind for them. "Over there," she pointed vaguely, knowing that somewhere behind her was another work desk that often ended up the receptacle for such boxes. "Go ahead and unpack it so we can sort through it when we finish here."

Sam stifled the sigh that welled up within him and simply moved as he was told and deposited the box on the floor next to the work table. Once, just once, he wouldn't mind being included in the tight little wad of people bending over the notebook. Surely his take on what was taped and written within that book was just as potentially valid as anything that Broots could come up with – and yet the computer geek was always given access, while HE was relegated to grunt work.

Considering the contents of the box, he was seriously tempted to just upend the thing and dump everything on the table – but he was fairly sure the noise and subsequent mess would generate a sharp rebuke from his boss at the very least, if not an outright cutting remark. He didn't work quite as closely with Miss Parker as Broots and Sydney did, so he generally didn't end up on the receiving end of many of those emasculating barbs – a condition he really wasn't in the mood to threaten for any reason. So he reconsidered his non-verbal complaint and quietly began doing exactly as he'd been asked.

First out of the box were numerous empty books on environmental law, chemistry and biology; an Auto Club map of the road systems of Dade County in Florida; and finally and most telling, an employee handbook from the Environmental Protection Agency. Those – from what he'd been able to gather, being the muscle at the fringes of the raid on the apartment in Miami – had been research materials for the Pretend that had just taken place. Jarod had Pretended to be an investigator with the EPA while uncovering a fellow investigator who had been filing fraudulent reports in exchange for kickbacks – and in the process had allowed a major pollution spill that was now even now causing a high rate of pediatric cancer in a very small town o the edge of a remote swamp. The arrest of the EPA investigator and the looming civil court case against the polluting manufacturer had been front-page headlines across the nation for the past two days.

What he had a harder time understanding were the books on Feng Shui, Tarot and I Ching that were mixed in among them. In lifting out a copy of _The Illustrated I Ching_, an envelope floated to the ground that slipped out from between the pages. "Miss Parker," he called softly, picking up the envelope and reading Jarod's handwriting to know to whom it was addressed.

"What is it now, Sam?" She sounded irked at the second interruption.

"I think this was meant for you," he replied blandly, handing her the envelope.

"From Jarod?" Broots asked in his characteristically excitable tone of voice.

"Who else would it be from, Scooby," Miss Parker replied, shooting Sam a glare for his pausing to watch her slip her finger along the edge of the envelope to open it. Sam took the hint and returned to unloading the rest of the heavy box of books onto the table.

Sydney sidled closer to the impeccably dressed woman, finding her new three-inch heels put her at the same height as he was and not allowing himself to be intimidated by the fact. "What does it say, Parker?"

Miss Parker pulled the single white sheet of paper from the envelope, opened it, stared at it in utter confusion for a while, and then tipped her hand over to let Sydney take it away from her. "I haven't got the foggiest idea what the Hell your trained rat is saying this time, Syd. I swear, there are times that I think…"

"This is I Ching," Sydney declared suddenly.

"Say what?" she asked in a bored and almost disinterested tone. "What the hell is 'itching' other than a nuisance – which is a good description of Jarod, if you think about it…"

"I Ching," the Belgian psychiatrist corrected her patiently, "otherwise known as the Book of Changes. It is a very ancient Chinese form of fortune-telling…"

"Wonderful!" She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Next thing we know, he's going to be reading tea leaves…"

"So what is that, Syd?" Broots asked his colleague in a soft voice so as not to disturb his boss' tirade.

"They're hexagrams – a set of six lines, two sets of three. The I Ching catalogues all 64 possible combinations of broken and unbroken lines and assigns each one meaning…"

"But…" Broots complained, staring at the paper, "…there are two of them…"

"Brilliant, Broots, just brilliant," Miss Parker growled dangerously. "How'd you figure that one out?"

"This is a reading," Sydney glanced disapprovingly at Miss Parker, who merely shook her head at him and made a rude noise. "Three coins are cast six times, once for each line, starting with the bottom and going up. Where the dot is next to the line is called a 'changing line' – where a broken line becomes a solid one or visa versa. That's where the second hexagram comes from. The fourth line changes from solid to broken – see?"

Miss Parker suddenly charged over to the two of them and snatched the paper from Sydney's hand. "This is absolutely fascinating, Freud, but you're still no closer to telling us what the HELL Jarod's trying to tell us… tell me," she corrected herself.

Sydney merely turned around and looked at Sam. "Sam, was there a book in that pile on I Ching?"

"Yeah," the sweeper replied, digging through the stack on the table to the one from which the paper had fallen. "This one – the one the envelope came out of in the first place."

Miss Parker snatched the book out of his hand and thrust it at Sydney. "Do you need a turban and crystal ball, or can you get to the point?"

"Parker, please!" Sydney chided openly this time. He took the book and held out his hand patiently. After a long moment during which he and Miss Parker stared at each other – or glared, in Miss Parker's case – she finally handed him the contents of the envelope that Jarod had left for her. He then carried both over to the table where they'd been, and spread the paper out to see it more clearly.

"The first hexagram is thirteen," he announced after studying the chart in the front of the book, "and the second one is thirty-seven." He flipped through the book. "Thirteen is 'Community' – 'Community in the open brings progress … an enlightened person, therefore, recognizes his fellow man's place in the outside world…'" he read aloud.

"As if we haven't gotten the message before this, Wonder-Boy," Miss Parker hissed under her breath. "What else?"

Sydney was flipping to the back of the book. "Next, we read the changing line for the thirteenth hexagram… ah, here it is: 'Fourth Line…'"

"But it's the third line down," Broots pointed out the obvious.

"Yes," Sydney explained, "but you create the hexagram from the bottom up, so you number the lines from the bottom as well. Let me see…"

"Stupid Chinese," Miss Parker grumbled. "No wonder Lyle loves them so much – they do everything bass ackwards. Hurry up – I'm not getting any younger, Syd…"

Sydney's finger found the right spot again. "'The more you pursue your dream, the further you drift from your Community. In time, your loneliness will bring you to your senses. Good fortune.'"

Broots raised his eyes to gaze at Miss Parker knowingly; unfortunately, she caught the movement and stared at him sarcastically. "What?" she demanded challengingly.

"I didn't say anything," Broots looked back down at the paper quickly, still stunned at how close that little passage came to describing Miss Parker's situation precisely.

"Anything else?" she barked at Sydney self-consciously, pricked by the short passage.

He sighed, giving up trying to get her to behave herself – chasing from Delaware to anywhere sufficiently distant only to come up virtually empty handed after months of few clues at all never failed to put her in a thoroughly sour mood. His best bet, he knew, was to humor her – answer her questions with as little to do as possible and then keep out of her way. "Now we read the main text for the second hexagram – 'Family'."

"He's really trying to hammer the message home, isn't he," she grumbled to herself.

Sydney's eye was caught by a highlighted section at the very bottom of the page. " 'Try to see all organizations, whether familial, social, or political, as Family groups and then determined your most comfortable position within them. Be certain, however, that you are not involved in carrying out a role for which you are unsuited, or a role that has been cast upon you. This will rob your life of meaning."* (see author's note at end)

"OK, that's enough." Miss Parker grabbed the book up from the table and tossed it carelessly in the general direction of the table that Sam had piled high with books. When the volume landed spraddle-paged at Sam's feet, she pinched the bridge of her nose to try to prevent the sharp stab from a burgeoning migraine from progressing to blindness. "I'm going to go back to my office, take some aspirin and lie down for a while – you idiots see if you can figure out any clues about where our mentaliste genius might be heading next." Fingers gingerly massaging temples, she walked slowly out the Sim Lab door.

"Jarod was laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?" Broots commented to Sydney, who merely shrugged.

"I'm going up to the cafeteria for some lunch," Sam announced to the two men remaining. "You fellows want anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Sydney answered absently, flipping through the pages of _The Illustrated I Ching_.

"See if they have any Fun-yons in the vending machine," Broots replied, walking over and handing Sam two one-dollar bills. "The lounge down here is out already."

"Fun-yons," Sam grimaced, pocketing the paper money. He never had understood what Broots saw in those things – they were truly disgusting, as far as he was concerned. "Got it." He headed for the door and then paused right at the threshold. "If Miss Parker asks, tell her I'll be right back."

"Not a problem," Broots told him as he wandered over to the table piled with books and began rifling through the pages of the top one, looking for another envelope or clue. When Miss Parker's headache abated to the point that she'd be willing to rejoin the group, it would be nice to actually have something new to offer her…

oOoOo

"This is getting us absolutely nowhere!" Miss Parker yelled and then put her hand to her aching forehead. Her medication was wearing off, she could tell. "Why the hell has he changed the rules by which he's played the game for all this time? He always used to leave us some oblique hint at where he was heading next…"

"He hasn't done that for quite a while now, Miss Parker," Sydney kept his voice low, knowing that raising it not only wouldn't improve her mood, but would only make the pounding headache she was fighting even worse. "Face it – we're lucky to get a hit on his whereabouts once every two to three months – at best!"

"That means we must be slipping, and you know how well THAT will go over in the Tower," she threatened ominously. "And I don't know about you, but I don't want to face another T-board like the last one."

"Me neither," Broots chimed in softly from his seat at the computer terminal, from which he was once more running one of his highly sophisticated global searches for any reference to anyone remotely matching Jarod's description.

"I didn't ask you," she snapped, and then whirled around, looking all around the otherwise unoccupied Sim Lab; and then whirled back to face off with her colleagues again, obvious even more irked than before. "Where the Hell is Sam?"

Broots and Sydney glanced at each other, stumped. "He said he was going down to the cafeteria…" Sydney began.

"He said he'd be right back," Broots added. "He was going to get me some Fun-yons…"

"That was right after you went up to your office to rest," Sydney finished in an attempt to supply a comprehensive time frame.

"Well, he's not here now," Miss Parker put a hand on her hip. "Call down to the cafeteria and get him on the line – and tell him to haul ass back up here or he won't have an ass left when I get done with him!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Broots knew better than to say anything but when she was in this kind of mood. He picked up the phone and dialed the extension for the checkout clerk at the cafeteria.

"I swear, Sydney, the next person that even breathes wrong in this place is going to be looking down the business end of my nine-millimeter," she grumbled with her fingers to her temples again.

"Getting angry doesn't help the migraine, Parker, you know this," the old psychiatrist soothed at her in smooth and accented tones. "Stress only makes things worse."

"Tell me something I don't know," she retorted tiredly, then whirled when the sound of Broots' voice speaking into the telephone had ceased. "Well, is he on his way?"

Broots shook his head and prayed that being the bearer of bad news wouldn't prove fatal. "The gal at the checkout counter – you know, the one with the lazy eye…"

"BROOTS!!!"

"She said that he was drinking his coffee and suddenly didn't feel well – and he headed for the Renewal Wing for something for his stomach. He's been gone for at least an hour."

Miss Parker blinked. "That's odd. Sam's got the constitution of a horse – and a cast-iron stomach to boot. I've seen him polish off jalapeños like popcorn…" She stopped her musing self-consciously. "Call Renewal – get an update on his condition."

Broots obediently dialed again and spoke to the duty nurse, and then hung up the phone with a totally confused look on his face. "That's even stranger, Miss Parker – she said that there's no record of Sam coming into Renewal for anything."

Miss Parker shook her head. "There's got to be some mistake."

"You could always try his cell phone," Sydney suggested quietly from his seat at the table, examining each and every book Jarod had left behind.

Miss Parker pulled out her cell and hit a pre-programmed number, listened, and then pulled the device from her ear with a withering obscenity. "What the hell is this – the cell phone I dialed is no longer in service?" She pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment and then looked down at her computer technician again. "Broots, pull up Sam's home address. Something's decidedly fishy here…"

"Yes, ma'am." Broots' fingers flew across the keyboard, paused, then flew again, and once more fell silent. "Miss Parker," he started, sounding definitely spooked, "this is really off the wall."

"What?"

"There is no record of a Sam Alderman ever being employed here at the Centre…"

"That's ridiculous!" she exploded, shoving his shoulder hard and nearly dumping him from his swivel chair onto the floor in order to move him from in front of the terminal. "Let me do this…" She typed in her password for a higher security clearance access and ran the search utility again. She typed, then waited and typed again – with the same response. "But…" she attempted to reason with the inanimate screen in front of her, manicured hands waving ineffectually in the air, "…he's worked for me for nearly ten years…"

She turned wide and confused eyes to her two colleagues, neither of whom could think of any remotely appropriate response to her comment.

oOoOo

Miss Parker deposited her purse in the drawer of her desk, as was her habit as the first thing she did when she arrived for work every morning – and then reached for the bottle of antacid, which was the second normal item on her morning agenda. Third on her list was retrieving a very strong cup of coffee from the supply room just down the hall from her office, which was not on her normal schedule of tasks every day but was going to be essential today. She'd not been able to sleep well the night before, wondering why in the world the Centre would want to make a loyal and valuable sweeper vanish into thin air – that being the only possible explanation for the way in which Sam had apparently evaporated from the face of the earth.

Broots had spent what little had remained of the day searching high and low for the slightest sign that Sam had ever existed. The Blue Cove phone book had been scoured unsuccessfully – although Sydney reminded his colleagues that most sweepers kept their phone numbers unlisted for security reasons. City property tax rolls had then been examined; with no 'Sam Alderman' listed as a homeowner. The talented computer tech had even hacked into the Delaware Department of Motor Vehicles – and found no license issued to a Sam Alderman of Blue Cove, Delaware.

Returning to her office, she put the coffee mug down on her desk in front of her and leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled beneath her nose in a gesture she'd picked up long ago from Sydney. The loss of her personal sweeper had her completely stumped – and a little concerned. Sam had been a very necessary member of her team all along, and one of the very few people she could actually trust to watch her back in a tight situation. Without him, she wasn't exactly sure she could continue to do her job with any consistency.

There was a knock on her door, and she looked up as a tall and rather thin man entered at her call to come in. "Who the hell are you?" she asked rudely, knowing full well that she wasn't scheduled to see clients until much later in the morning.

The tall man blinked in surprise. "You know me, Miss Parker," he replied easily. "I'm Tim, your personal sweeper."

"Bullshit," she spat. "Look, I don't know what Raines and Lyle are smoking, but there's no way in Hell that I'm accepting anybody but Sam as…"

"Who?" Tim looked genuinely confused. "There isn't a sweeper here in Blue Cove by the name of Sam."

Storm-grey eyes that looked like the oncoming front of a hurricane snapped beneath furled brows. "Get out," she barked and pointed. "I don't know you, and I don't trust you – get out and don't let me see you in here again."

"Why Sis," an oily voice oozed across the office from where Lyle had pushed the door open without knocking, "are you abusing the hired help already this early in the morning? Coming in to work with a hangover…"

"You can just get out too," she hissed impatiently, "and take your pet goon with you. It isn't going to work, Lyle…"

The dark-haired man who was her twin walked across the office floor with an expression of innocence that went only a millimeter deep. "I swear, Parker, I haven't got the slightest idea why it is that you suspect me of every possibly form of conspiracy. And what is it that you have in for Tim today anyway – didn't he get your coffee for you early enough, or something?"

"No, he didn't get my coffee for me," she snarled. "For what it's worth, I wouldn't trust him to bring in the mail. I've never seen this man in my life…"

Lyle frowned. "Are you sure you don't need a vacation, Sis? All these non-stop seven day work weeks must be starting to get to you. Tim's been around…"

"Get out, Lyle," she merely shook her head, not listening to her brother any longer. "and take my 'personal sweeper' with you. I want Sam back – I don't know what you did with him, or where he's gone, but I want him back."

"Sam?" Lyle gazed at Tim, and both gazed at Miss Parker with looks of confusion. "Who's Sam?" Lyle asked.

"I told you, there isn't a sweeper by that name here at the Centre, Miss Parker," Tim added earnestly.

Miss Parker grabbed her coffee mug and rose to her feet. "Fine. You keep this office – I'll be down in the Sim Lab."

Lyle made a grab for her arm as she pushed past him. "C'mon, Parker, this isn't funny."

"You're damned right it isn't," she steamed, jerking her arm free from his grasp. "And I intend to get to the bottom of it – just watch me."

oOoOo

Sydney watched as Miss Parker sighed and accepted that Tim was going to get up from his chair in the furthest corner of the Sim Lab and follow her back to her office whether she wanted him to or not, just as he had done for the last two weeks. Tim was becoming a distraction, both for her and the rest of the team, despite her having taken the precaution to keep a distance between the team and the ever-present stranger in their midst.

About two days after Tim's first appearance, Broots had remembered seeing him once before, during an encounter with Raines' personal sweeper staff months back that had included the man. All three of them were completely convinced that he was a mole, intended to dig information about the team members themselves to be used against them by Raines or Lyle – they couldn't be sure which. So Tim was given the odd-man-out treatment, relegated to a chair near the main entrance to the Sim Lab and commanded to stay there until told otherwise.

The psychiatrist had no doubt that whoever it was to whom Tim was reporting must be getting tired of hearing the same report night after night – that there were no further hints to Jarod's whereabouts, and no hint that any team member was involved in aiding or abetting the Pretender's continued freedom. Tim had been called away from the Sim Lab twice since he'd begun occupying the post left vacant by Sam's disappearance, and both times he had reappeared an hour or so later looking slightly paler and stony-faced.

It was late, and Sydney was tired. All of the books from the Florida lair had been catalogued now, and it was his task to page patiently through each and every one of them now to see if there were any hidden clues that had been missed. It was a tedious and time-consuming task – and one that he would have gladly turned over to Sam and Broots so that he could transfer his attention to a pending twins study pending any discover – but with the change in the members of the team, Miss Parker had insisted that he do the paging himself. He'd been through half of the stacks now – flipping through books that he could only marginally understand.

But it was nearly seven in the evening; and all around him, the sounds of the normal Centre hustle and bustle of sweepers and clerks and scientists in the hallway outside the lab had dwindled until the only sound he could hear was the dull hum of ventilation motors and air conditioning units. Customary beret in hand, Sydney turned off the lights to the Sim Lab and headed for the elevator that would take him back up to the ground floor, from which it was a short walk to the parking structure where he'd left his Lincoln. As the silver door slid silently to the side, the thin and swarthy man already inside the tiny metal box stepped to the side to make room. "Sydney," the man intoned in a musical East Indian accent.

"Ravi," Sydney nodded in reply. He often rode the elevator to the ground floor with the psychiatrist from the Centre Mental Health Facility in the evening. Their acquaintance was mostly limited to the few minutes they spent together on the elevator – although through departmental meetings, both knew the general shape of the work the other was doing.

"Say – did Miss Parker fire her sweeper recently?" the short man asked suddenly.

"Noooo," Sydney drew out and gazed down into the dark face in surprise. "Why would you ask that?"

The East Indian shrugged. "Because when I was down in the gym exercising yesterday, I thought I saw Miss Parker's pet sweeper off in a corner with Willy, drilling on self-defense moves with Mr. Lyle watching."

Sydney hit the halt button and put a hand on the other man's arm. "What did you say?"

Ravi blinked. "I said I saw Miss Parker's sweeper practicing moves with Raines' Willy down in the gym yesterday morning. I was just wondering if Miss Parker had fired him – if that was why he was working for Raines now?"

Sydney pushed at the resume button with a numb finger. "Miss Parker didn't say anything about it," he answered honestly for as much as he was admitting. "I'd have to ask her."

The rest of the trip up to the ground floor passed in silence, and Sydney was anxious to escape to his car the moment the door slid to the side. He barely even acknowledged Ravi's wish that he have a good evening as he pushed through the trio waiting for the elevator and almost ran out of the Centre lobby doors.

The moment Sydney had his car door closed, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed the button that dialed Miss Parker. He didn't have long to wait – he knew she was still upstairs in her office, finishing reports. "Miss Parker…"

"Syd…" Her voice sounded tired. "Can't this wait…"

"This is important," he barked at her with uncharacteristic vehemence. "I spoke with an associate of mine just now that thinks he saw Sam…"

"What?" Her voice had changed dramatically – become very sharp and focused. "Where?"

"In the gym yesterday morning, practicing moves with Willy – and under Lyle's watchful eye," he repeated what he'd been told.

"Son of a bitch," Miss Parker's growl began in a low register and only grew in volume. "That son of a bitch…"

"Sam?" Sydney was shocked.

"No, you idiot – Lyle! He pretended… he told me…" It was obvious she was fuming. "I just KNEW he was in on whatever the Hell is going on…" There was a pregnant pause. "By the time I'm through with him this time, he's going to wish I stopped with just taking the other thumb…"

"Parker," Sydney shushed at her frantically, "if Lyle is involved, perhaps a bit of caution might be advisable. We don't know…"

"I don't give a damn if Lyle's up to his earlobes in whatever's going on. I'm going to the gym tomorrow morning and see if Sam really is there. And if he is…"

"For God's sake, be careful!" Sydney urged her, wishing that she would listen to his advice – even just this once. "We don't know what we're up against…"

"I don't care," she announced firmly. "This has gone on long enough. I want my sweeper back – and by God, I'm gonna GET him back!"

oOoOo

The training gym on SL-2 was a well-used facility – used to train sweepers in advanced hand-to-hand combat techniques as well as to rate the abilities of everyone involved in the Safety and Internal Security Department. At any one time, the huge room could hold up to twenty people involved in various body-building or martial arts activities at once, with plenty of room at the sides for observers or coaches to stand safely out of the way. The center of the room was a basketball court; but on both sides, weight-lifting equipment was in perpetual use, and two sets of thick wrestling mats were laid out on the polished hardwood floor for self-defense practice.

The one concession to going to the gym Miss Parker had made that morning upon arriving had been to change from her three-inch stilettos into a set of athletic shoes – mandatory on the fine, polished floor. She was still garbed in her designer silk pantsuit when she pushed through the swinging doors from the locker rooms into the gym itself and paused to gaze around the room slowly. Her eyes paused on each face they encountered, on the back of each head, contrasting memory with what was before her with a single goal in mind.

And there he was – with his back to her, facing Willy with his feet wide, knees bent and hands spread as if waiting for a chance to catch the huge black man in a crushing hold. She held her breath as the two big men circled each other, obviously searching for a moment of weakness to exploit and take the other down – and at some signal she couldn't perceive, the two of them suddenly crashed together like huge bulls. In the ensuing struggle, Willy suddenly lost his footing; and Sam tucked his foot behind an unstable leg and took the big man down hard. The slap of Willy's hand on the mat was the only thing that made Sam lift his knee from the other man's throat and let him breathe again.

"Sam!" Miss Parker called as the two men separated, and Sam extended down a hand to pull Willy to his feet again. She frowned as her sweeper seemed not to notice his name being called, and she moved forward into the gym calling out, "Sam!" again a little more loudly.

Just when it seemed as if Sam were going to turn around and answer her call, Miss Parker found herself jerked around by the elbow. "I don't know what you're doing here," Lyle hissed into her ear dangerously as the fingers of his right hand dug painfully into her arm, "but it stops right here, right now. Get out!"

"Let go of me!" she struggled against his grasp, only to feel her other arm suddenly to be equally trapped. She looked up into the hard, cold, dark gaze of Willy, who merely looked to Lyle for direction.

"You are to leave immediately – and stop bothering Jerry," Lyle demanded. "His training is almost complete, and I don't want anything to keep him from being accepted into the elite unit assigned to the Chairman. He's too damned good to let slip through our fingers."

"That's MY sweeper, you asshole," Miss Parker shouted at Lyle, not caring who heard. "His name is Sam, not Jerry – and you know that as well as I do. Now, I don't know what you're doing, but…"

Lyle's fingers dug even more painfully into the elbow, straining where tendons and ligaments connected to bone. "You listen to me. There is no Sam – there never HAS been. Your personal sweeper's name is Tim. Get that through your head, and stay the hell out of sweeper training programs. You have enough to do, considering the recent lack of progress in the hunt for Jarod – any further extra-curricular activities will be dealt with severely. Do I make myself clear?"

Miss Parker turned her head and tried not to shudder at the way Willy's eyes had a cold look of expectation in them that she suspected was in anticipation of what her continued refusal would give him license to do. She looked up and over into the distance, where another sweeper had his arm around Sam's shoulder and was talking to him privately and very quickly in order to distract him from continuing to glance in her direction. Whatever was going on, they were keeping Sam from getting close to her – and there was at the moment no way for her to fight a battle without losing badly.

She glared at Lyle, looked down at where he still held her arm, and then back up into his face again. His face smoothed into a contented smile, and he dropped his hand away from here. With a nod, he'd ordered Willy to follow suit. But the two of them stood still, obviously waiting for her to either try to get at the man across the room again or do as she was told.

Frustrated and furious, Miss Parker threw her head back and marched through the swinging doors of the gym, heading for the locker room and her three inch stilettos. Willy and Lyle glanced at each other and then together walked back to join the other two at the wrestling mat to continue the training session.

At the other side of the gym, a dark-haired head turned briefly and watched the stunningly beautiful brunette storm from the room. Jerry then turned back to his coach and his returning practice partner, wondering not only why that beautiful woman looked so familiar, but why she was calling him by another name – and why the name 'Sam' made something in his stomach knot suddenly.

***Author's note**: Sydney is quoting snatches from hexagrams 13 and 37, as found in _The Illustrated I Ching_, trans. By R. L. Wing, 1982, Dolphin Books/Doubleday& Company, Inc., Garden City, New York. And yes, his instructions on how to cast the coins for a reading are correct.


	3. Now You Don't

Chapter 3 – Now You Don't.

"And just what did you think you were going to accomplish?" Sydney scolded Miss Parker, watching her pace back and forth in front of his desk at the back of the Sim Lab like a caged tigress. She'd landed in his lab almost the moment he'd come in to work, and already he'd had to drag her back to this more private venue and close the doors so she could vent without causing any more comment than the ever-present surveillance footage would generate. Her description of what had happened, coupled with his own vivid imagination regarding what COULD have happened had she not backed down, had brought the hairs up straight on the back of his neck – and he couldn't remain silent.

"I told you last night, I was going to get my sweeper back," she retorted in an exasperated tone – which Sydney decided was a big improvement over her furious yelling only a few moments earlier. Not that it improved his mood much…

"Damn it, Parker, you could have gotten yourself seriously hurt – or worse," he retorted back, his sharp tone finally catching her attention. "Sit down – you're giving ME a headache; and it's too damned early in the morning for that already," he pointed demandingly. He glared at her with lowered eyebrows over snapping chestnut eyes until she finally relented and slouched into the chair in front of his desk. "What the Hell did you think you were doing?" he continued in a much gentler, but still chiding tone. "You know better than to go up against Lyle and Willy at the same time without backup…"

"But Sam…"

"Is out of reach for the time being! You're going to have to accept that until we can figure a way around it!" Sydney's voice got sharper again as he began to feel like a teacher pounding a concept into a deliberately thick-headed student, and he waved his arm around for emphasis. "Going around challenging Lyle when he has Willy there to back him up isn't going to help us figure things out – and it could backfire and make things even more difficult if you end up in traction and out of the picture. For God's sake, Parker, use your brain for something besides holding your ears apart!"

Miss Parker blinked and stared at him, startled and impressed by the vehemence he'd put into his tirade. Very seldom was she given such a clear indication of his fondness for her nowadays, and even rarer were the times when he had ever genuinely attempted to chew her out effectively for anything. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when he'd acted so completely out of sorts with her – except when he'd felt a threat to either himself or someone he held very dear. He must be pretty upset on her behalf, she decided, for him to speak out so clearly – and the mere thought of that, and the idea that a threat to her safety was enough to make him sprout a backbone, was warming and calming. Still, there were appearances to maintain… "Whoa! Who put the Metamucil in your Wheaties today, Rocky?" she asked in a dismissive tone – but her expression and the lack of heat in her voice dulled the sharpness of the insult.

"Enough of the sarcasm – you know I'm right," he growled and shook his finger at her, not backing down in the slightest or letting her comment penetrate. "Who's going to try to figure out what happened to Sam if you're not around because Willy breaks enough bones to put you in the Renewal Wing again for weeks? Face it, neither Broots nor I have the clearance…"

"OK, OK!" She waved her hand between them. "You've made your point, Syd. It was stupid, and it was taking risks, but…" her grey eyes came up and snapped determinedly, "…I'm not sorry I did it. I saw Sam with my own eyes – at least I know he's OK – and now I KNOW something fishy's going on." She sat back in her chair with grim satisfaction. "And I know Lyle is up to his ass in whatever IS going on. For what it's worth, we have more to go on now than we did before I did this," she added, determined to justify her actions to him, even if just a little.

"The benefits weren't worth the risks." Sydney insisted forcefully and slowly as he scowled at her. If he weren't so fond of her, he realized, he could have easily throttled her for being so pig-headed.

"That's YOUR opinion," she muttered rebelliously, refusing obstinately to be brought to heel like some trained puppy, and then pointedly shrugged to concede the point in order to placate him. It was one thing to stand her ground, but having Sydney pissed at her for the rest of the entire day wouldn't exactly help HER mood any – not to mention she needed his help.

Sydney gave her a wary look and then relaxed back in his chair, finally ready to begin to process in his mind the evidence she'd brought to him. "But you say Sam didn't answer you?" he asked, steepling his fingers beneath his nose thoughtfully.

"Pretty hard to believe, considering how loudly I called to him," she answered dryly. "Especially since I only had to open my mouth twice to get Lyle and Willy on either side of me in no time flat, dragging me out." She paused and ran the scene back through her memory. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that he didn't even recognize that it was me calling him."

There was a timid knock on the door that could only come from one person. "Come on in, Broots – we're not killing each other, yet," Miss Parker called out in a frustrated tone.

"You're sure? It sounded like it from out there for a while," Broots responded, not entirely convinced yet. It wasn't often that he heard Sydney standing up to and arguing loudly with Miss Parker and getting away with it without somebody coming away bloody. He looked from one tight face to the other. "Anything new happen – or do I really NOT want to know?"

"Miss Parker, acting on a tip I gave her last night, went down to the gym this morning and found Sam – or someone who looks just like him – working out with Willy, with Lyle in attendance. She called to him and he never responded – although Lyle and Willy escorted her on a bee-line out of the gym, with a serious warning to stay away." Sydney explained the day's events in a dry tone that was eloquent with disapproval. "She's lucky she got out of there in one piece."

"Sam didn't answer you?" Broots was astonished. Miss Parker's personal sweeper had been the MOST responsive of the team members – NEVER failing to answer her call and do what she bid without the slightest question of conflicting loyalties or agendas. Sam's entire reason for working for the Centre had for years been protecting Miss Parker's flank; for him not to answer was completely out of character. "Are you SURE it was him?"

"Yes, I'm sure, you moron," Miss Parker answered in frustration. "Face it, he's a pretty big man to mistake for somebody else."

"Take a deep breath, Parker – I need you to remember what Lyle told you – precisely," Sydney told her calmly. "There has to be a clue in what he said."

"Well," she started, then paused when another firmer knock came on the door and Tim stuck his head through.

"Miss Parker?"

"Get out. Go to your corner and wait for me," she demanded, instantly irate again yet refusing to look at him. "You don't belong in here – and you've been told that a hundred times."

The deep, blue eyes didn't flicker, nor did the blonde head withdraw. "Mr. Raines would like to have a word with you," he announced in a flat tone. He didn't like her much more than she liked him – but Mr. Raines had told him to stick to her like glue and report back on anything he might hear. That duty also meant he had to pass along messages from the upper echelons from time to time, whether she wanted them or not – not to mention deal with the flack that came afterwards.

Storm-grey came up and looked at him, and Tim felt a chill run down his spine from his collar. It didn't do to test the patience of this one – he'd heard horror stories about what this willowy woman could do to a man, no matter how well-trained he was. "Fine," she said in a very soft, very cold, very dangerous tone. "You've delivered your message – and I'll go see the Vampire King when I'm damned good and ready to. Now either go over to your corner, like a good little sweeper, or get out and don't come back. The only reason you're still here is because I haven't had the time or patience to choose someone more qualified for the job – so either you do exactly what I tell you, or I'll MAKE the time to replace you. Capisce?"

Blue battled with grey, with neither giving an inch – and Sydney merely sat back and watched the exchange with interest for a change. Tim was a target for Miss Parker's ire in whom he had no vested interest in either egging her on or reining her in – and Parker needed to blow off steam safely. He neither liked nor trusted this new sweeper – and frankly, he thought Miss Parker was doing the whole team a disservice by NOT going down to the sweepers' office and choosing another man to fill Sam's temporarily empty shoes. A quick glance at Broots found the computer tech observing her with much the same attitude toward the newest member of the team, and the two of them exchanged a quick glance of understanding before turning back to the show.

"Look, Miss Parker, I work with you because Mr. Raines told me to," Tim said slowly and firmly, for the first time confirming that he wasn't HER choice for the job. "You can't…"

"I can do whatever I damned well feel like – including firing you for insubordination and just plain pissing me off," Miss Parker rose to her feet and walked over to face off with the rebellious sweeper. "As the head of SIS, I have both the authority to give you your walking papers as well as make it impossible for you to get another bodyguard job in the state of Delaware, AND I can choose my own sweeper from the ranks whenever I damned well feel like it, even if I DON'T fire your ass." She paused and thought. "Then again, I also have the authority to oblige you to meet me down in the gym for some re-qualifying trials – just to make sure that you're good enough to work with me. I don't have time for any sweeper-come-lately who can't fight his way out of a paper bag."

Tim's eyes widened slightly at the deliberate dare. "You don't think I'm good enough?"

Miss Parker's lips quirked in a cold and dismissive smile. "That's just it – I don't know whether you are or not. I haven't seen you do much of anything besides eavesdrop and poke your nose in where it isn't wanted – and any lily-livered, limp-wristed wimp can do that. Tell me, Tim," she stepped up to him, toe to toe, and looked him up and down with a scathing and penetrating glance that made his pale face blush a furious red, "do you think you're man enough to pass MY exam?"

The tall sweeper caught himself just before accepting the challenge in the heat of an overwhelming rush of testosterone, not to mention a bruised ego. It was common knowledge that Miss Parker had had a level of training in her youth that wasn't even attempted in the sweepers training program – as a matter of fact, she had been the one to train the men that had trained HIM. Her assignment to the top of the Safety and Internal Security Department had years ago resulted in a complete revamping of the training given to recruits just to qualify as a sweeper – and made the path to advancement within that department more difficult, strenuous and challenging than it had ever been. What was more, one of the most important parts of her job as the director of SIS was to personally train the top operatives for other corporations, foreign governments and government agencies so that they could go back to their employers and implement similarly stringent and demanding training. She was a dangerous, lethal, woman – one that a man would only get one chance to underestimate, a chance they with luck might survive.

The story in the sweepers' locker room was that nobody had ever bested her on the mat – ever – except for the one man whose name he was now forbidden to mention or even acknowledge: Sam. And Sam had bested her only because of his greater size, greater physical strength – and because somewhere in his back history, he'd received martial arts and self-defense training on a par with or even better than her own. Either way, messing with Miss Parker was a known recipe for disaster. One look into her face, into her eyes, told him that if he were stupid enough to accept her dare, at best he'd be spending a week or more in Renewal on top of being replaced as her sweeper – and he didn't want to consider what the worst-case scenario might be. Neither alternative, in retrospect, was anything to look forward to, nor would it be acceptable to his real boss. That left him only one choice…

"I think that you should consider heading to the Tower at your earliest convenience, ma'am," he responded in a very tight tone, his gaze not flinching even while his ego cringed on the inside. She'd probably interpret this statement as capitulation – evidence of weakness and cowardliness – but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

The grey eyes flashed, and Miss Parker felt the knot in her stomach begin to unwind slightly. She'd suspected that the man wasn't ready to meet her on the mat – his backing down to insist on the meeting with Raines only confirmed Tim's lack of backbone, which in turn withered what little respect she had for him down to non-existent. Perhaps it WAS time to go down to the sweeper's office and sort through the recent recruits for a suitable temporary replacement for Sam. "I told you, I'll go to the Tower when I'm damned good and ready," she repeated slowly, as if to a child. "Now go sit in your corner while I talk to your boss." She stared at him hard. "NOW!" she barked sharply, making both Tim and the other two men in the room jump.

Seething but not in a position to do much about it, Tim took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly, gave a quick nod of concession and withdrew his head from the door. Miss Parker pushed the door closed behind him sharply so it would slam audibly to reinforce the rejection.

"Man," Broots whispered, daring to take a breath again, "I thought for a moment you two were going to duke it out right here…"

"Parker," Sydney began in a cautioning voice at the same time. "What did I tell you…"

"Just think about what I told you before," she said over her shoulder, her hand reaching for the knob, "and I'll be right back. We'll finish this conversation then."

"Be careful," Sydney persisted again.

"Don't worry, Syd," she smiled coldly at him. "I know when to behave."

Sydney stared at the door after she'd left the office. "That's what I'm afraid of," he murmured to nobody in particular.

oOoOo

The last thing Miss Parker saw of the Tower lobby in front of the Chairman's office before the elevator door slid closed and the car began descending to the sublevels again was Willy's cold and triumphant grin.

She was seething – again – and her headache was coming back with a vengeance. Raines had had the audacity to repeat the demand that she quit bothering others about her alleged former sweeper named Sam, that she keep her nose out of sweeper training – despite that being a job that was specifically designated as hers alone – and most specifically, that she stay away from the gym early in the morning. To make matters worse, Lyle had been in the office along with a freshly showered and immaculately dressed Willy; and their superior attitudes and smirks hadn't helped her mood or simmering headache at all.

When the elevator coincidentally stopped at the floor where her office was to let on a very shy and thoroughly intimidated file clerk, Miss Parker abruptly disembarked and headed down the hallway to her office to commune with both the bottles of painkiller and antacid. No doubt Sydney would be in no mood to put up with much more of her spouting – and it was rapidly becoming apparent that "figuring out a way around things" wouldn't happen until the three of them had a chance to talk uninterrupted and unobserved.

She lifted the phone and dialed Sydney's office.

"This is Sydney…"

"Syd – get Broots and come up to my office."

"Miss Parker…"

"We need to confer on this latest clue to Jarod's whereabouts before he gets a chance to get away again." God, Sydney, she thought frantically, get the message – please!

There was a slight pause, and then the psychiatrist responded in a slightly more animated voice than before. "Very well. We'll be up momentarily."

She disconnected the call and began to count with her eyes closed. She knew better than most how long it would take a motivated Sydney to collect Broots and get him into the elevator, heading for above-ground climes. About the time she figured the elevator to be halfway to her floor, she rose to her feet and walked out of her office.

"Miss Parker…" Sydney was surprised to see her greet the elevator even as the door opened.

"This way," she said shortly and gestured for the two of them to follow her. There was one place she knew about on this floor – one place where the cameras didn't quite penetrate and the sensitive microphones were turned just enough away that conversations didn't get recorded well. "Keep it down," she warned with a finger at her lips.

"At least Raines didn't order YOU to Renewal," Broots whispered gratefully.

"No," she sighed, "but he did order me to keep away from sweepers in general, sweeper training programs in particular and the gymnasium to be specific." She looked at Sydney intently. "He's keeping me away from Sam deliberately. Why?"

"You were going to tell me what Lyle said – EVERYTHING he said – before we were interrupted," Sydney reminded her in a low voice.

Miss Parker closed her eyes and concentrated. "Other than the usual threats, there were just a couple of things that stood out. One was that he called Sam 'Jerry' and that he was training to be assigned to Raines' personal staff. The second was that any attempt to interfere would be dealt with severely."

"I told you that you were playing with fire," Sydney frowned at her worriedly.

"You say Lyle called him 'Jerry' now?" Broots, on the other hand, was thoughtful. "Do you happen to remember which trainer he was with?"

"Willy himself, moron," Miss Parker spat.

"Parker, cut it out – he's just trying to help," Sydney snapped at her in a quiet yet cutting tone. The attitude was getting very old and approaching disruptive now.

Amazingly, she took the rebuke and backed down immediately. "Sorry, Broots – I guess this whole thing has just got me wound up in knots."

Broots and Sydney exchanged another glance. Getting an apology from Miss Parker was only another sign that things were getting way out of hand. "What I meant was," the tech began again more carefully, "who ELSE was with Sam – coaching him, maybe?"

She thought, and then recognized the man who had been at first standing at the edge of the mat, and then had had Sam by the shoulder leading him away and talking to him to keep him from paying her any attention. "Hank. Hank Obermann. The top man in the sweeper training program – best we have, other than yours truly."

"I can always check his training schedule," Broots announced with a small smile – and that will give us a name to go with the time frame in which you saw Sam with him."

Sydney's brows rose appreciatively. "Good thinking, Broots!"

Miss Parker snapped her fingers and then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Get going – and drop me a note when you have anything. We don't discuss this at all in here anymore unless I know we're under the radar." Broots immediately scuttled away down the hallway toward the elevator again.

"Don't you think you're becoming a little paranoid?" Sydney gazed at her calmly.

"You tell me, Doctor Mengele – my bodyguard vanishes, only to reappear weeks later being called by another name, and I'm warned to stay away from him and anything remotely having to do with him. Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't out to actually get me," she finished sarcastically. "Go play with your human bookends – or better still, keep playing with Jarod's books, if you're not done with them yet – I'll let you know if I hear anything from Broots."

Sydney sighed. It certainly looked like it was going to be another long day.

oOoOo

Broots gazed at the screen of his computer terminal with some trepidation. He'd known that sooner or later he'd trip over an internal security alarm, considering how tightly all the information about the sweepers had been suddenly locked down. Still, he'd managed to trace the schedule of Hank Obermann and determine that the person Miss Parker claimed to be Sam was being called "Jerry Silva" – and that he was currently being housed in the on-site sweeper dormitory on the far northern edge of the Centre property.

From that mote of information, he'd dug back into the Centre mainframe and found a very interesting set of obstacles that had taken the better part of the day to get around quietly before he'd made it into Jerry Silva's personnel file. From what little he knew of Sam's background, it certainly looked as if this Jerry Silva was cut from exactly the same cloth – same hometown, same basic training… Strangely, there was a project name listed at the top of each of the pages of personal information as well – Project Contingency. Broots had shaken his head in disbelief – none of the other personnel files he'd rifled through at Miss Parker's behest had ever had a project name so prominently attached to them.

That had made him even more curious, so he began to search on the keyword "contingency." Only one single document had come up after nearly an hour's worth of digging; and before it had encrypted itself and become illegible, Broots had only been able to make out a reference to "Formula 837A". Frowning, he typed in "Formula 837A" into the mainframe search criteria and hit enter. Immediately his terminal had frozen – with "Unauthorized Access Attempted" emblazoned prominently across the entire screen.

Genuinely frightened now, Broots skittered quickly out of his cubicle and down the hallway to the Sim Lab, where Sydney was once more leafing through the pile of books from Jarod's lair. "Syd," the tech whispered, grateful that Tim was nowhere in sight.

"Broots!" Sydney was glad for the interruption – the environmental law manual was incredibly dry reading. "What…"

"Listen. I've set off alarms somewhere with my digging, and I don't know what's going to happen now," the balding technician stammered quickly, "so you need to listen to me real fast. I found him - Sam is now listed under the name 'Jerry Silva' – and he has a project name on all his files: 'Contingency'. I brought it up – and the only thing I got before it encrypted itself was a reference to something called 'Formula 837A' – and trying to search on that locked up my entire terminal. 837A - ever heard of it?"

Sydney shook his head and gazed at his friend in concern. "No." He frowned. "But why didn't you use that old security password of Mr. Parker's that Miss Parker gave you a couple of years ago?"

Broots dropped his face. "I didn't think of it until it was too late," he admitted. "I just wanted to tell someone what I'd found before…" His face paled. "Syd, you don't think they'd disappear ME like they did Sam, would they?"

"I doubt it," Sydney replied. "For one thing, you have a family that would miss you – Sam didn't. For another, everything you accessed before that lock-out point had been of low enough security that anybody could have gotten to it – you only tripped over the one file, right?"

"Yeah, except for the encrypted one," Broots didn't sound so sure. "I suppose…"

Sydney rose and put his arm about the shoulders of the smaller, younger man. "Just go back to your station, reboot your terminal and continue on with whatever work you were doing originally. When or if somebody asks about it, tell them you typed in something by mistake while researching something for Miss Parker." He shrugged at Broots' startled stare. "It's always best to hide a lie within a truth, especially if there's no way to get around lying. It should be enough to get you off the hook."

"You're sure?" The technician badly wanted to be reassured.

"As certain as anyone can be about anything here at the Centre," Sydney replied dryly, earning himself a quick glare of frightened frustration. "Just hang in there and don't let them see you sweating. Nine chances out of ten, this will all blow over by quitting time."

"If you say so," Broots sighed heavily and shook Sydney's hand. "Thanks, Syd."

Sydney watched the younger man head slowly out of the Sim Lab and back in the direction of the Computer Services Lab, and then he turned and walked back to his office and closed the door – and locked it. He seated himself at his desk and booted his own terminal, then bent and reached into the depths of the bottom drawer of his desk in search of a small paper he'd hidden in the bottom of the drawer above it. Miss Parker knew nothing of this – even Broots didn't know he had this – and he'd never let either of them even suspect that he'd come into possession of it, much less what he'd done to get it. He'd never had an occasion to use Mr. Raines' current password until now – but from the sounds of the finds Broots had made, perhaps this was important enough.

The screen that appeared once he'd carefully typed in the password was considerably different from the one that he normally saw – and he held his breath as he punched in "Formula 837A" and hit the return key. Immediately, he was given a selection of documents to choose from – apparently progress reports dated from approximately three months earlier all the way back to mid-2001 – all of them authored by a Dr. Marjorie Morrison.

He opened his desk drawer, withdrew a floppy disk, and immediately copied the files to read later, when he'd have the time and the privacy to try to understand them – then reset to the search page and typed in Dr. Morrison's name and hit enter. There were four documents that rose to the top of the screen as the most recent dealing with her – the earliest an entrance report for her admission to the Renewal Wing after a car accident on the grounds had left her with a head injury. Next was a recommendation that she be moved to a facility off-site. Next was the assignment of her case to a Centre-related yet independent psychiatrist – with the final document transfer papers for Dr. Morrison's removal from the Renewal Wing to…

Sydney blinked. The Mount Pleasant Convalescent Home – THAT was where they sent her? He shuddered. It was a secured facility, and an old one – one that was remotely connected to the Centre, he was fairly sure, but one the Centre kept in nearly dilapidated condition. It lay in the midst of a thoroughly dreary part of the Virginia countryside where it rained more than almost anywhere else on earth, it had always seemed to him. Jacob – his twin, in a coma from a car accident – had lived… no, Jacob had EXISTED there for nearly twenty years, and he had faithfully come to visit every Christmastime.

He shuddered. Mount Pleasant was little more than a warehouse of damaged human goods – and while the on-site staff was talented and dedicated, he'd seen very few of the patients there over the years improve to the point of being released.

He followed the lead and brought up recent patient reports filed by a Dr. Han regarding Dr. Morrison's condition at Mount Pleasant – as well as enigmatic notes regarding continuing sedation and… lo and behold… yet another reference to Formula 837A. Evidently Dr. Morrison was receiving periodic and minute maintenance dosages of whatever that compound was during her convalescence.

The entire scenario was making him nervous. Sydney saved all of the files regarding Dr. Morrison and her tragedy to the floppy disk, put the floppy disk in his jacket pocket and then logged off the system. Carefully he filed his slip of paper with the high-security password on the underside of the desk drawer again and then closed and locked his desk. A glance at the clock and he was standing and stretching, with no intention whatsoever of going back to the pile of books on the table. It was quitting time for normal, working people – and tonight, he intended to go home and make himself a very strong drink to unwind.

He just had one last thing to do first.

oOoOo

It was odd that there was no lock on the lab that had been assigned to Dr. Morrison – it was as if whatever was inside was either not valuable enough to protect or bait for a trap. Sydney stood in the open doorway for a long moment, knowing himself to be nothing but a silhouette if a camera were actually active and trained on the door. His eyes swept the far wall of the room, checking nooks near the ceiling as well as crannies down amid bookshelves or file cabinets, but no glowing red lights indicated that the lab even had an active security system.

He peeked his head in, and still saw no sign of cameras, so walked in further.

The lab had the look of something abandoned in haste. There were test tubes and Bunsen burners still on the counters, where they'd been left when last there had been someone there working with them. In the dim light of the corridor, Sydney could see a dried residue in the bottom of one – and he reached for a rubber stopper for the vial and slipped it into his pocket, in case it held some clue to this mystery that seemed to get bigger and bigger the further they dug.

In the furthest corner of the lab stood the wooden desk – so much like the one that had been assigned to Jarod during the Pretender's final days in the Sim Lab – on which were piled a haphazard stack of spiral notebooks. Sydney flipped on the small reading lamp and opened the top notebook – and frowned. This looked like nothing he'd ever seen before – even the symbols were unfamiliar. Whatever Dr. Morrison's talent, she'd kept her hand-written notes encrypted.

Unsure whether this was a wise move or not, Sydney gathered all seven of the notebooks up and thrust them into his usually empty briefcase. Dr. Morrison wouldn't miss them now – and perhaps they could shed some light on what was going on. He turned off the light and, with a final glance around the lab, walked to the door. A quick look up and down the hall showed that he wouldn't be much noticed amid the stream of departing lab workers, and so he slipped into the crowd that was headed like lemmings for the elevator. With any luck, the corridor camera wouldn't have caught him at all…

oOoOo

Broots closed down his computer terminal and shut the machine off, glad that the day was finished. It had been a long and nerve-wracking day, waiting for the axe to fall for having had the temerity to attempt to call up information that was so tightly protected only to have the day pass relatively peacefully and serenely. Even Miss Parker had seemed subdued somehow – she'd stayed out of his hair and, for as far as he knew, had even let Sydney alone. That was fine with Broots, because with Miss Parker's absence had come Tim's absence – and that man made Broots extremely nervous.

Broots tossed on his sweatshirt and retrieved his bicycle helmet from the bottom drawer of his desk, whistling. Despite the stressful day, he was determined to enjoy the evening. It was, after all Debbie's birthday – and he had bought her a lovely pair of diamond earrings to commemorate her fifteenth year on earth. They were in a small box in the glove box of his car, from which he'd retrieve them as he took his soon to be grown-up daughter to a nice dinner.

He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello, Broots residence," Debbie answered.

"It's me, Sweet Pea," he said in a loving tone, smiling as if she were in front of him. "I'm on my way – so you be ready, OK?"

He could hear the delight and expectation in her voice. "OK. I'll be watching for you."

"See you soon."

He hung up the phone, walked calmly and slowly to the elevator and pressed the button.

oOoOo

Miss Parker raised her head from the newspaper she was finally getting a chance to read and looked at the clock as her telephone began to ring. It was almost seven-thirty – far too early for Jarod to be calling to disrupt her sleep. She leaned over and put her iced tea on the reading table next to the lamp and reached for the nearby receiver.

"Miss Parker?"

"Debbie?" She blinked in surprise. Broots' daughter wasn't in the habit of calling her this late in the evening, if ever. "What's the matter?"

"Did you see my Daddy tonight after work?"

She didn't need to think hard. Courtesy of Raines steering Security-minded clients in her direction for the greater part of the day, she hadn't seen the tech much at all after she sent him off to do his computer voodoo. "No – what's the problem?"

"He was supposed to come home and take me to dinner, but he never came home," Debbie told her father's boss with a very worried tone. 'He called me to say he was on his way – but I waited and I waited…"

"How long ago was that?" Miss Parker was sitting up straight. Sydney had told her of the strange conversation he'd had with a very spooked and rattled Broots the evening before – had it take this long for the Centre to decide what to do with meddlers?

"He called at five-fifteen."

Miss Parker was on her feet. "Put together an overnight bag, Debbie – I'm coming over to pick you up. Don't answer the door for anybody else. Turn off all the lights you can – make it look as if you're not there – understand?"

"I think so…" Debbie was sounding even more worried. "Is my father in trouble again, Miss Parker?"

"God, I hope not, Debbie," Miss Parker told her fervently, and then hung up the phone so she could reach for her purse.


	4. And Then There Was One

Chapter 4 – And Then There Was One

The Broots house was completely dark when Miss Parker pulled her black Boxster into the driveway and jumped out. There was only a full moon to augment the distant street lamp to help her see where she was going and not trip over a raised section of sidewalk directly in front of the house. She sprinted up the sidewalk and onto the front porch, and then rang the doorbell and pounded. "Debbie, open up. It's me."

There was only a small pause before Miss Parker could hear the sound of the security chain on the front door being unhooked, and then the door was open and Debbie was leaning into her. "I was really starting to get scared," the girl admitted, grateful to feel Miss Parker's arms go around her after a brief moment of shocked hesitation. "Nothing like this has ever happened."

"I know," Miss Parker soothed the girl, her mind spinning while trying to figure out what her next step would be. Obviously the first thing was to get Debbie to a secure location before the Centre goon squad closed in on her – for if Broots had been taken, no doubt the Centre would be going to great lengths to make sure that his daughter didn't bring his disappearance too much publicity. "Did you pack an overnight bag, like I asked you to?"

Debbie disengaged herself from Miss Parker and leaned down just inside the door to draw forth an athletic bag that looked fairly well stuffed.

"That looks like there's more than enough than for just overnight…"

"I wasn't sure how long I'd need to prepare for," Debbie responded with a sick look on her face. "The last time Daddy got in trouble, it was almost three days before I saw him again."

"OK," Miss Parker said, grabbing the bag from Debbie's grasp, "lock the place up so we can get going…"

"Where ARE we going?" the girl asked, slipping her key into the lock and into the deadbolt in order to secure her family's belongings.

"I'm not sure yet," Miss Parker said, putting a hand to the small of Debbie's back and hurrying her down the sidewalk toward the Boxster in the driveway. "Get in and get down," she directed, starting to get nervous. Something told her the Centre wasn't all that far away anymore, and she caught the glimmer of two sets of headlights turn onto the street at the other end – nearly a half mile away. She threw the bag in the back seat from the driver's side, slipped behind the wheel and sped backwards out of the driveway without turning on her headlights. "Stay down!" she directed, continuing to back down the street for about three houses and then pulling to the curb and shutting off the engine. She leaned toward Debbie on the passenger side of the car so that she wouldn't be noticed sitting behind the wheel either – giving her car an abandoned look.

Sure enough, the headlights that she'd seen sped down the street toward her and then pulled up noisily into Broots' drive. Five men poured from various car doors and swarmed over the property, testing locks on the front door, rattling window jambs and scouting around the back of the house. Miss Parker watched the activity very carefully over the top of the dashboard.

"What's going on?" Debbie asked.

"Stay down!" Miss Parker barked in a stage whisper. "We got you out of there just in time – there are men crawling all over your place…"

"What would they want with ME?" Debbie whispered softly, obviously even more frightened than before now.

"I don't know, sweetheart," Miss Parker whispered back, "but until these guys take off, you need to stay down and out of sight." She thought for a moment. "We'll go to my place for a while, while I try to think this through…"

The sound of her cell phone filled the car's interior. "Who the hell…" she grumbled as she contorted herself so she could reach into her pocket for the little device without straightening up enough that the Centre men down the street could see her. Finally she had it in hand, flipped it open, yanked on the antenna with her teeth and then put it to her ear. "What?" she asked with her customary surliness.

"I should be asking you the same question," Jarod's smug voice sounded in her ear. "I've left some pretty blatant clues for your team lately – and I know for sure that Broots' latest incarnation of a search engine should have picked up at least two or three of them – and yet not a single sign of movement…"

"We've been a bit busy," Miss Parker hissed at him in a stage whisper.

"Why are you talking so softly, Miss Parker?" Jarod teased. "Are you somewhere you really aren't supposed to be?"

"If you must know, I'm sitting crouched down in my car parked on the street just down from Broots' house, with Debbie hiding in the back seat, trying not to be seen by the two carloads of Centre sweepers crawling all over Broots' house…"

"What the hell is going on?" Jarod asked, all signs of teasing now gone.

"Broots vanished this evening after calling Debbie to let her know he was on his way to pick her up for a birthday dinner. That's been almost three hours ago," Miss Parker explained after glancing at the clock in her car.

"So that's why he didn't pick up on my clues," Jarod breathed thoughtfully.

"No, that's not why," Miss Parker sighed. "He's been a little busy doing some looking in another direction. Sometimes you just aren't the center of everybody's world, Jarod…"

There was a pause on the other end of the line that told her that her little barb had probably hit its target. Then: "Where are you going to go with Debbie? She can't hide out at your place forever…"

"I hadn't managed to think that far ahead yet, Genius," she hissed at him.

"What about White Cloud? Nobody from the Centre would think of looking for her there…"

"That's about the most ridiculous…" Miss Parker shook her head in exasperation and then continued in a very forceful whisper: "Do you honestly think that I'm going to drive her all the way up to that remote cabin and then LEAVE her there, all by herself?"

"She wouldn't have to be alone, you know," he suggested next, "you could always have Sam stay with her…"

"No can do – Sam's gone too," she replied flatly.

That stopped him. "What do you mean, gone?"

"He's vanished, evaporated, vamoosed, skeedaddled, nowhere to be found in the general vicinity during normal work hours… Do any of those terms ring a bell?"

"Sam's gone too?" Debbie squeaked. Now she really WAS frightened, if her burly and teddy-bear-like sweeper friend could just up and vanish like her father had…

"When did this happen?" Jarod demanded.

"A couple of weeks ago."

"Damn." There was another pause. "You've got yourself a problem, Parker. First Sam, now Broots…"

"No shit, Sherlock."

She had to sit through yet another pause. "Get her to White Cloud, Parker – tonight. I'll meet you there."

"What??" Miss Parker's mouth dropped open. "Do you honestly think that I'd leave an innocent child with YOU? I'm supposed to be trying to CHASE you, remember?"

"In the first place, I took good care of her father once – and you know damned well that I'd never let anything happen to his little girl. In the second, this is an emergency – and I think we can suspend our 'I run, you chase' long enough to get a little girl's father back for her," Jarod retorted and then backed down his tone a bit. "Really, Parker – if you have any other bright ideas, now's the time… You KNOW you're going to have to go to work in the morning one way or the other – so you either leave Debbie all alone in your house, into which Lyle and Willy and Raines have broken more times than you really want to know about, or you trust me with her."

She sighed and ran her hand down the front of her face in frustration. "Damn you."

"No," he disagreed gently, "damn THEM. Can you get her to White Cloud tonight and still get back to Blue Cove in time to get to work in the morning?"

"I won't get much sleep tonight, but I can make it," she told him, surprised that she was even considering his offer. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this…"

"Call Sydney and get the keys to the place from him. I really don't feel much like breaking into one of his residences."

"Belated sense of propriety?" she asked caustically.

He snorted. "I suppose you could call it that. I'll see you in White Cloud in two hours," he told her and disconnected the call.

"Debbie, I'm going to take you up to Sydney's fishing cabin at White Cloud Lake – and I'm going to leave you with a friend of your father's…"

"Jarod?" Debbie asked in a small voice. "The man you were talking to?"

"You've met him?"

"No, but my father talked about him after the time he got in trouble… And you called him by name while you were talking to him…"

Miss Parker slowly moved her head and straightened just enough so that she could see over the top of dashboard again. Just down the street from her, the black-suited sweepers were huddled in a knot near the hood of the first sedan, and then they quickly dispersed into the two cars. Both cars pulled out of the driveway and sped away – heading back in the direction from which they came and, ultimately, the Centre.

She waited until the taillights had vanished around the corner before she finally sat up straight behind the steering wheel and started the engine again. "Stay down," she directed forcefully. "We don't know when we'll be seen by another set of men like that, and I don't want any sign of you visible anywhere until we get where we're going."

"Am I going to have to stay down like this all the way?" Debbie asked, pulling her arms close and hugging her body nervously.

"Probably not – but wait until we're past Dover before sitting up again," Miss Parker answered. "I'll tell you when…"

oOoOo

Sydney's face blanked for a moment as he peered out through the security peephole, and then unlocked his front door. "Parker? This is a surprise…"

"I'm sorry for barging in so late without any warning like this, Syd, but I need the keys to your cabin at White Cloud," she answered, moving only a step or two inside the threshold. When she turned to him, she had her hand out – palm up.

His mouth fell open, and then he frowned. "What on earth for?"

"They've taken Broots," she explained with a worried expression. "I'm taking Debbie to White Cloud so they don't get to her too. I need your keys because I'd rather not break into the cabin."

"You've got to be kidding – the Centre would never come after…"

"They've already tried," she told him flatly. "I barely got her out of her own house in time before there were two cars-full of sweepers all over the place."

Sydney didn't hesitate, but headed to a small stand just outside the archway leading to his living room and pulled a drawer open to retrieve a single key on a ring. He walked back to her and dropped it into her waiting hand. "This fits both the knob and the deadbolt – and I always lock them both before I leave." He suddenly frowned. "But surely you're not intending to leave that child up there all by herself, are you? There's no phone in case of emergency… Hang on - I can be ready…"

"No, down boy," she put her hand on his arm to keep him from darting up the stairs. "She won't be alone, Syd. Jarod will be there – he'll watch her while you and I go to work in the morning and try to find her father." She looked down at the floor, and then back up into his face, her expression wary and guarded. "I just hope that he hasn't suffered the same fate Sam did."

Now Sydney stared at her with mouth fully agape for a long moment. "Jarod will be there?! How…? Why...? When did he…?"

"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, after I get to work," she patted the arm and shoved the solitary key into a pocket. "Right now, I'm kinda in a hurry. I want to make it up and back and still give myself at least a couple hours of sleep before having to be at work in the morning."

He caught at her arm this time. "Be careful, Parker. The road from White Cloud to the lake drive is in bad condition from the last winter storms – and there have been a couple of accidents."

"I'll be careful, don't worry." She stepped back across the threshold and hesitated only long enough to say, "See you tomorrow," before she was trotting back down his sidewalk toward her black sedan. Sydney squinted but could see nobody else in the car – but noticed Miss Parker turn and speak to the back seat area before putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb.

He was rubbing his jaw as he slowly closed his front door and turned off the porch light. This was NOT good. This was NOT good at all!

oOoOo

Sydney had been right, Miss Parker decided as she pulled at last to a stop in front of the darkened cabin. The unpaved road between the tiny hamlet of White Cloud and the scattered ring of cabins and summer homes at the lake itself had been incredibly rutted and hard to navigate without breaking an axle. A little closer in to the cabin itself sat a light-colored mini SUV – Jarod had gotten there ahead of her. Somehow, she wasn't surprised.

"Wake up," she shook Debbie's shoulder to rouse the girl. "We're here."

Broots daughter roused quickly – and Miss Parker knew that her rest had been an uneasy one. "Already?"

Miss Parker smiled at the simple normalcy such a question posed. "You slept most of the way. C'mon – I'll introduce you to Jarod and get you two into the cabin."

Debbie took her time getting unbuckled, while Miss Parker had the back door open and was pulling out the athletic bag by the time she was finally out of the car. Together the two began walking toward the cabin. "I got the key from Syd," Miss Parker called out to the tall man who emerged from the mini SUV as they drew near.

"Good – it's better that he knows what's going on where," Jarod replied, and then held out his hand to Debbie. "Hi. I'm Jarod – I'm a friend of your dad's."

"I know you are," Debbie took his hand without hesitation. "He talked about you a lot when you helped him get out of trouble the last time."

Jarod's eyes met Miss Parker's in the moonlight, each cringing at the thought that Debbie would field the thought of her dad being "in trouble" again with such ease. "Let's get inside," Miss Parker gave Debbie's shoulder a push. "It's chilly out here, and you don't need to come down with a bug."

"I'll take that," Jarod reached for the athletic bag and took it from her. His own backpack was draped over one shoulder.

The cabin was just as Miss Parker remembered it from her brief stay with Sydney many years earlier, just before his twin, Jacob, had died. The cabin smelled a little dusty, as it normally would when shut up for too long without an airing, but was otherwise clean. "Debbie, why don't you take your bag upstairs? There's a bedroom up there that you should be comfortable in," Miss Parker suggested, retrieving the bag from Jarod and handing it to the girl.

"Where will Jarod be?" Debbie asked, unwilling to leave the adults with her as yet.

"There's a bedroom right by the staircase," Miss Parker answered with a reassuring smile, "right through the curtains. He'll be fine." She shot Jarod a pointed look.

"You go on and get yourself moved in," he added his urging to Miss Parker's. "I'll be fine. Staying downstairs makes it easier for me to guard your safety."

Debbie hefted the bag to get a better grip on it and headed up the stairs. Jarod pulled the curtains back and tossed his backpack on the bed and then turned back to Miss Parker. "Let me make you some coffee to help you stay awake for your return trip," he declared, moving toward the back of the cabin and the kitchen. "You're sure the sweepers didn't see you?" he asked as he began to open and close cupboard doors to take stock of what Sydney had left there.

"They never got close to us," she reassured him. "We were at the curb and parked and looking dark before they got anywhere near us."

Jarod had finally located the sealed bag of coffee grounds, the flat filters and the old-fashioned coffee pot to sit on the electric stove. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked, beginning to assemble the pot after filling it with water.

"I'm going to make noise – lots of it," Miss Parker declared defiantly as she seated herself at the table. "Broots is a valuable member of my team – I need him to keep up the pace of the search for you as much if not more than I need Syd." She smiled in chagrin. "Just don't ever tell Sydney or Broots I said that."

"How's Sydney doing anyway?"

She looked at the tall and dark-haired Pretender sharply. "You haven't called him lately – and I think he misses that." She looked away when he swung his head to look at her and busied herself with examining her fingernails. "You haven't called me very often either – and we're having a helluva time finding you more than three or four times a year. You've been changing the rules of our game."

"No," Jarod shook his head and moved the coffeepot to the stove. "I've just been getting tired of the game. I'm giving you enough to keep Raines and Lyle off your back, and enough times of near-misses to keep the chase valid – but that's about it. It's the best I can do, Parker."

It was as if the lights had just been turned on. "You've found them." He'd found his family – it had to be that!

Jarod kept his back turned to her. "Perhaps…" he allowed.

"I'm glad." It was a simple statement made in utterly sincere tones. "It's about time."

The idea that she approved of his actions brought him around again, wide-eyed. "Thanks, Parker."

"So…" She rose and walked with the ease of familiarity to another set of cupboards and retrieved two coffee mugs that she carried to the sink to rinse. "Do they know what you're up to?"

"No," he admitted. "But they know that there are times that I have to deal with the Centre so that we can have our short span of relative calm – it's just that this particular time is taking a little longer than normal."

"Then I don't want you any closer to this than you are right now," Miss Parker put the mugs down on the counter near the stove and turned to face him toe to toe. "This is MY fight – MY business. They're messing with ME – you stay out of it. Understand?"

"I'm here…" Jarod smirked at her. "I'm already in it."

"No, you're just helping out by keeping someone else who needs to be kept out of it safe for me," she stuck a finger in his chest for emphasis. "I can't concentrate on finding Sam and Broots if I have to worry about Debbie's safety, OR yours. You're doing me a favor – and that's as far in as you're going to get."

"For now," Jarod agreed. "I'll compromise with you to that extent. Fair?" He stuck his hand out toward her.

"Fair," she replied, shaking the hand and finding his grasp warm and firm in hers. "Now, how long is it going to take that coffeepot to make some decent sludge?"

oOoOo

"This isn't a good idea, Parker," Sydney complained yet again while he had the illusion of privacy in the elevator. All too soon, he knew they'd be stepping out into the lobby of Raines' Tower office, and he'd lose his opportunity to once more preach the futility of her plan.

"They gotta know that I'm not going to take this sitting down," Miss Parker hissed at him. "Broots is key to the hunt for Jarod – whatever it is they think he's done, it was done to try to locate Jarod. Surely…"

The elevator door slid silently to the left, and the two of the walked down the short hallway toward the huge secretary's desk that sat protectively in front of the etched glass doors of the Chairman's office. The efficient young woman behind the desk looked up at the pair that were approaching and shook her head slightly. "He doesn't want to be disturbed…"

"Too bad," Miss Parker growled and moved right on past the desk and pulled the glass doors open with a flourish.

At Raines' desk, Lyle straightened in surprise, and the wizened old man to whom he'd been speaking pulled noisily on the oxygen tank hidden somewhere behind the massive wood desk. "Miss Parker," the voice grated eerily, and then gasped again. "I am very busy at the moment."

"This won't take long," Miss Parker said dryly and continued to move further into the room. Movement to her side, combined with an intake of surprise from her colleague to her right gave her the impetus to show off – especially since the easy mugging she'd received from Lyle and Willy a few days earlier. Without a sound and without warning, she whirled and swept an outstretched leg around – which had Willy knocked off-balance before he knew what was happening to him. A single blow with an extended knuckle to the back of his skull as he landed prone on the floor put out his lights. She straightened to her feet, brushed her hands down her jacket to smooth it, and continued to approach the desk.

"Impressive," Lyle stated with glowing eyes. His sister was more than impressive – she was magnificent when she got in this kind of mood. Not for the first time did he find himself looking at her and wishing that she WASN'T family…

"I want Broots back, NOW," Miss Parker demanded in a soft and dangerous tone of voice. "Taking Sam was one thing, but Broots is central to my ability to hunt down Jarod. I don't care what he's done…"

"We really haven't got the vaguest idea what you're talking about," Lyle schmoozed at her with oily confidence. "I personally haven't seen your Mr. Broots since…"

"Cut the act, Lyle, you simply aren't that good a liar." Miss Parker's gaze slid over him dismissively to the bald and wizened man in the Chairman's seat. "I want him back," she pronounced again, slowly and clearly.

"I don't have him," Raines wheezed at her, blue eyes glaring. "And I resent the implication that I do."

"You're behind every disappearance here at the Centre," Miss Parker told him coldly. "So you're behind this one – no matter what you say. I'm just here to serve notice that I'm going to turn over every stone, look in every corner – I'm going to visit the gym in the morning and spend a great deal of time looking into the sweeper training program – and I'm going to find the members of my team that you've stolen from me."

Raines' glittering blue eyes raised to look at Sydney, who merely stood next to his colleague and official superior with a deceptively calm and observant expression. "You need to help Miss Parker realize the precariousness of her position, Sydney," the old ghoul gasped next. "She's out of control – and I'm making it your job to get her back to work."

"She's my superior," Sydney stated quietly with a quintessentially European shrug. "Officially, I can tell her nothing. You know that – you helped set up the hierarchy for this team in the first place."

"Careful, Parker," Lyle warned from his position behind and to Raines' right. "Just because you can put Willy down like that doesn't mean that you can't be beaten if you get your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"Get in my way, and I'll do worse to you than I did to Willy," she hissed back at him and then raised her eyes to Raines. "I don't know what you two are up to, but I'm making it my business to find out." She turned and caught at Sydney's jacket sleeve. "C'mon, Syd. We have work to do."

Raines waited until the two intruders were back outside the etched glass before pushing the button on his intercom. "We need a medic team up here, immediately," he called in frustration, his eyes on his personal sweeper so easily laid low.

"It's getting to be almost time," Lyle remarked casually. "Things are going right on schedule."

"Of course they are," Raines replied after another noisy drag on the oxygen tank. "These people are completely predictable. But it isn't almost time – it's time. I want this moved to phase two by tonight."

Lyle's cold smile grew wide in expectation. "My pleasure."

oOoOo

A quick glance at the wall clock in his office told Sydney that it was five-thirty – time to knock off for another week and meet with Miss Parker to regroup. He picked up the telephone and dialed her office extension, as they had arranged, and waited. And waited. Finally he hit the voicemail – he thought.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please make sure you have the correct extension number and try again."

Sydney blinked. He knew Miss Parker's extension by heart – having used it too many times to count over the past ten years of their collaboration. He hung up the receiver, picked it up again and dialed the same number – only to get the same message. Frowning he disconnected, picked up the receiver and dialed her cell phone number.

"The number you have reached is no longer in service. Please make sure…"

"Damn!" Sydney grabbed up his beret and briefcase and headed for the elevator. His fingers tapped a nervous tattoo on the faux wooden interior wall of the little cubicle as it moved upwards, and he moved as if to bolt from the car the moment the door opened – but hesitated. All around the outside of Miss Parker's office were sweepers – Willy among them – and Sydney pulled back into the elevator car and pushed the button for the main lobby to get the door to slide closed again as quickly as possible.

They'd done it – they'd taken HER now too!

Sydney's mind raced. First Sam, then Broots – and now Miss Parker! The indications were obvious – HE was next.

He settled his beret on his head and again tapped his fingers nervously on the metal bar that ringed the elevator car until he reached the main floor and could make good his escape to the parking lot. It was the weekend – perhaps he could figure out where to go and what to do before the Centre Goon-Squad came looking in his direction. His steps through the parking lot to where he parked his Lincoln were faster than normal – and he had the car in gear and backing out of his posted space as quickly as possible.

Sydney's hands gripped the wheel tightly. What was he going to do – he didn't have the wherewithal to run, and his accent made him identifiable if the Centre got it in his mind to hunt him down. Briefly he allowed his mind to linger on Miss Parker – and what kind of shape she must be in to have been taken so completely out of action in this manner. Then he thought of Sam – and Broots – and he pulled the car into the parking lot of a convenience store with a screech of tires.

In an instant, he was out of the car and over to the phone booth, where he punched in a number he'd long since memorized but normally didn't have to think about.

"Hello?" Jarod's voice sounded wary, probably because the caller ID on the cell phone wasn't giving him any clues as to who was making this call.

"Jarod, it's me," he said quickly. "They got to Miss Parker."

"Shit!" Jarod spat and then was silent for a long time.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah," the Pretender replied. "I'm still here. I'm just thinking…"

"I'm probably next," Sydney announced fatalistically. "I'm the only one left on the loose."

"Where are you?"

"At a pay phone outside of Blue Cove," the psychiatrist sighed. "I didn't want the call traced – or recorded."

Jarod's voice spoke of his approval. "That's using your brain, Sydney. Now – what I want you to do…

oOoOo

Lyle flashed his identification tag at the nurse, who then moved aside so that he could go down the hallway toward where Tim sat in a straight chair. "Anything?" he asked as he drew closer.

Tim stood. "No sir," he remarked neutrally. "She hasn't made a sound since I arrived."

"Good." Lyle began to smile. "Remember – the only four people allowed into this room are myself, Mr. Raines, Doctor Abrams and Doctor Chavez. If ANYBODY else tries to get in, I want them detained immediately and to be called immediately thereafter."

"Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir." Tim was grinning. Getting the job of keeping the Parker bitch on ice was a pleasure after all he'd put up with from her in the weeks beforehand. Mr. Lyle might not know it, but Miss Parker would have a fifth guest – IF he could get away with it, that is. Raines had ordered all kinds of security and surveillance equipment specifically to keep a very close eye on this woman, so whatever he'd want to do would have to be in a way those monitors and cameras couldn't detect.

Lyle gave Tim a sideways look as he punched in his code into the keypad next to the heavy metal door. This sweeper, while certainly brighter than many of the rest, hadn't been at all impressed by his sister during his tenure as 'personal sweeper.' In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd think the man might have a itch or two to get a little payback for what probably was a very uncomfortable two weeks with her. It would be something that he'd have to take up with Willy when he finished here. Willy was good at taking care of loose ends – loose ends like Tim.

The room was draped with many white and flowing curtains, something that shrinks back in the fifties had discovered hid the subterranean nature of the Centre medical facilities from the patients very effectively. The air in rooms like this was brought directly in from above through separate ventilation ducts only peripherally connected to the rest of the complex's vast system – all in favor of furthering the illusion of light and air and freshness and freedom that contributed substantially to the patient's frame of mind and then indirectly to the patient's recuperative powers.

In the center of the room, surrounded by yet more of the flowing curtains, was a hospital bed in which lay a tall, brunette woman in a hospital gown, tucked comfortably beneath a starched white sheet and a pale blue knit blanket. Her eyelids were closed, and her long lashes brushed tenderly against creamy cheeks. Lyle stood for a long moment, just admiring the view. Never before had he seen her so vulnerable – or so beautiful.

She roused, and then her grey eyes opened wide at the sight of the man in the dark suit hovering on the edge of her vision. She looked around and then back at him in some confusion. "Who are you?" she asked in a melodious voice, "and where am I?"

Lyle moved closer to the bed and smiled down at her lovingly. He'd seen the DSA – and he'd always wanted the chance to say something like it. He might as well take his chance – another like it probably wouldn't come his way again soon, if ever. "My name is Lyle, Parker," he intoned in much the same tones Sydney had used with Jarod all those years ago, "and I'm going to be taking care of you for a while."


	5. Defensive Maneuvers

Chapter 5 – Defensive Maneuvers

Sydney pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store outside Dover and, as Jarod had instructed him, pulled his duffel bag and briefcase with him and left them sitting on the ground near the front driver's tire before walking into the store. Very quietly, the door in the light-colored mini SUV beside him opened, and a hand drew the two pieces of luggage into the SUV – and then the engine started. The SUV pulled out of the parking lot and drove slowly and visibly down the street for three blocks before turning off and finding the alleyway and speeding back toward the back door of the store.

The tires screeched as the SUV pulled to a halt, and the sound brought Sydney out the back of the store and into the passenger seat of the SUV. "Go!" he exclaimed, and Jarod floored the vehicle. They sped down the highway headed north until Jarod jerked the wheel to the left and put them on a smaller lane that wound in among the low hills. The vehicle didn't slow down at all – and it was soon apparent that Jarod knew the road very well.

"Were you followed, do you think?" the Pretender asked his mentor tersely, keeping his eyes carefully bouncing between the road in front of him and the rear-view mirror.

"I don't think so," Sydney replied, and then started when a smaller hand landed on his shoulder. "Hello, Debbie," he greeted the young girl behind him.

"Hi Sydney," she smiled at him, her face pale in the moonlight.

"Where are we headed?" he asked Jarod curiously.

"There's a house in Dover that I use every once in a while – when I need to stick close to the Centre and watch what's happening a little closer than normal," Jarod told him with a quick glance. "We don't want to get TOO far away – we won't be able to do anything for those who are caught inside." The Pretender jerked his head toward the back seat. "Did you bring it?"

"Everything we'd managed to put together before people started disappearing left and right," Sydney replied. "And there's plenty to go through – trust me."

"Good. We'll need all the clues we can get at this point," Jarod stated pessimistically.

Things were quiet in the car for a long moment, and then Debbie asked from the back, "Do you think my dad and Miss Parker are OK, Sydney?"

The two men in the front seat exchanged quick glances. "We hope so," Sydney answered first, knowing how important to her frame of mind it would be to keep things hopeful until there was no alternative but to put forth a negative reality. "We'll know more when Jarod does a little poking around – he's almost as good as your dad at things like that."

"OK," Debbie replied, sounding a little more satisfied and reassured.

Jarod gave Sydney a long look and mouthed "almost as good" at him with brows raised in obvious question.

Sydney shrugged and turned to watch the darkened road ahead of them.

"I want to help." She pushed her chin forward defiantly when Sydney turned to look at her over his shoulder. "He's my father – and Miss Parker is my friend too."

"I'm certain there are going to be things that each of us is going to have to do to pull this off," Jarod told her with another quick and startled look at his mentor. Broots had turned out to be a remarkably tenacious man, more than willing to stick his neck out for Jarod while the Pretender had been trying to unravel the puzzle that Damon had left behind implicating the otherwise mild-mannered computer technician. Evidently the trait was genetic, for from the sounds of her declaration, Debbie intended to be just as involved as possible.

Sydney merely sighed and returned to watching out the windshield. Miss Parker had once remarked upon the way Broots' daughter was almost too intelligent for her own good and easily as stubborn as she herself was – here was proof. He and Jarod would have to tread very lightly if they were going to be able to shield her from the dangers inherent in trying to retrieve ANYBODY from the Centre.

Then again, Debbie was old enough to understand at least superficially what was going on – shielding her might not be doing her any favors in the long run. The way things were going, it was entirely possible that all of them, including those that had yet to be rescued, would have to remain on the run from the Centre for a very long time. They'd have to play the game of how much to tell her and how much to keep from her by ear.

"So what did our Miss Parker do when she got to work this morning?" Jarod asked in a conversational tone. He might as well know what Miss Parker, with her tendency to shoot from the hip and act before thinking clearly, might have done to trigger the current situation.

Sydney leaned back against the headrest. "You know how she is, Jarod. I couldn't talk her out of going straight to Raines with her suspicions," he groaned. "I told her it would be useless – that they'd deny everything, and threatening them would only make things harder." He smiled grimly. "Although, I have to admit, watching her put Willy down without a single sound or breaking a sweat did do my heart good."

Jarod broke out chuckling. "That sounds like her," he commented with a strange tone to his voice. "When did you figure out she was gone?"

The older man sighed. "I didn't see her after we split up after going up to the Tower. She had security clients to see to, and I had my research subjects coming in later that morning that would take me most of the rest of the afternoon to work with. But we'd made arrangements to touch base at quitting time – we were going to get together and think things through."

"Ah." Jarod understood now. "And she didn't answer her phones when she was supposed to."

"Not only didn't answer them, but they were already out of service," Sydney complained. "And when I went up to her office, I saw sweepers swarming all over the place – Willy included."

Jarod nodded to himself. "So let me get this straight – Sam vanished a couple of weeks ago, and then Broots yesterday, and Miss Parker today, right?"

Sydney nodded. "That's right."

"I wonder what the delay was," Jarod mused aloud.

His mentor cleared his throat. "Broots was doing some research on some clues that we discovered about Sam and evidently tripped an alarm. He came to me the afternoon before, shaking in his boots and filling me in on what he'd found before anybody could get to him. When he came into work yesterday morning like normal, I figured that maybe his panic attack was just a bad case of nerves. Then he disappeared…"

"What kind of alarm – did he tell you?"

"One that froze his terminal and had some kind of warning plastered all over it," Sydney answered. "I'm not exactly sure. Then again, there was another document he tried to access that immediately started to encrypt itself…"

"That would have sent off warning flags too," Jarod told him soberly. "Didn't he have anybody else's password with a higher security clearance…"

"He told me he forgot," Sydney closed his eyes, "until it was too late."

The dark road turned a corner, and suddenly the SUV was on a narrow residential street of Dover. He steered the car to the first major cross street and turned right. "We're almost there," he announced.

"I didn't even know you could get from Blue Cove to Dover that way," Sydney shook his head. "And I've lived here longer than you have."

"But I've studied the road maps of the entire area," Jarod smirked, "and I'll bet you've never had to."

"Touché."

Jarod maneuvered the SUV around several more corners and then was pulling slowly and carefully into the driveway of a thoroughly mundane-looking home – totally unremarkable in any way from any of the homes that surrounded it. "You come here often?" Sydney asked, impressed.

Jarod grinned as the garage door slowly lifted, illuminating his face in the interior light. "If I told you how often I HAVE come here over the years…"

"Forget I even asked," the older man chuckled.

oOoOo

Jarod looked up as Sydney walked back into the kitchen from the front of the house. "Is she asleep?"

"She's in bed," Sydney hedged. "From the looks of things, I seriously doubt that she's been sleeping much at all."

"I think she cried herself to sleep last night, after Miss Parker left," Jarod sighed and tapped a few more keystrokes into his laptop. "You should have seen her face when I told her we had to pack up and move because Miss Parker had gone missing too."

"I can imagine." Sydney put the briefcase down on the kitchen table. "This is all of it."

Jarod looked up into his mentor's face and then pushed the laptop aside so he could pull the briefcase to him and open it. Inside was a folder with a few papers in it, a pile of small, loose-leaf notebooks, a glass vial with something dried at the bottom of it and a floppy disk. "That's it?" he asked in surprise.

"The folder is, to the best of my ability, copies of the documents at the beginning of Broots' search on the day before he disappeared. Miss Parker wanted to know what happened to Sam – now known at the Centre as Jerry Silva – and Broots was digging into the personnel files." Sydney watched as Jarod pulled the folder out and began flipping through the documents.

"What's 'Contingency'?" Jarod pointed to project name that had appeared on every last page of Jerry Silva's file.

"That was what led him to the document that encrypted itself – but not before he'd seen 'Formula 837A.' I was the one who followed up on that eventually," Sydney admitted quietly. "Everything I was able to find on THAT is either on the floppy disk or – I hope – in those research notebooks."

"You got information on Formula 837A that Broots couldn't get to?" Jarod was shocked as he reached for the top notebook. "How'd you manage that?"

Sydney smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Mr. Raines made the mistake of logging onto his computer with me in the room a few months ago. I know which keys are which on a keyboard, even upside-down… I wrote down what I saw the moment I was alone."

Jarod tipped his head appreciatively. "Oh, Sydney, they do tend to underestimate you, don't they?" he began with a conspiratorial tone and then looked down into the notebook and blinked in surprise. "What the Hell…"

"I know," Sydney stated very matter-of-factly, understanding exactly where Jarod's exclamation had come from. "I figure that was why they left the notebooks in the lab where Formula 837A was developed, rather than collecting them after the researcher had a car accident and was transferred to a convalescent home with a serious head injury – the Mount Pleasant Home, to be precise." Jarod looked up at him sharply. "That doesn't look like any language or code I've ever seen before – and I'll bet that the cryptography department didn't get anywhere with it either."

"Somebody didn't want their notes to be read by anybody else," Jarod frowned and ran his finger down the page, seeing repetition in the characters that implied either an alphabet or syllabary.

"Her progress reports to her superior are on the floppy disk, written in intelligible English at least," Sydney pointed out tiredly. "I'm not exactly sure what this Formula 837A was, but I know that Dr. Morrison wasn't comfortable with the kind of experimentation she was doing…"

"You read the reports?"

Sydney nodded. "Most of it went over my head – but there were sections where she was talking about the responses of some of her human subjects, and she was expressing real concerns over their welfare."

Jarod reached out and pulled the floppy from the briefcase and inserted it into the drive on the side of his laptop. "You look pretty well wiped, Sydney," he commented in a kind voice. "How about you head upstairs to rest, and I'll keep working on this for a while longer?"

"Do you want me to make you some coffee first?" the older man asked, rising.

"Uh-unh," Jarod shook his head and smiled as he pulled a Pez dispenser from the pocket of his leather jacket, which he'd draped over the back of his chair. "I prefer sugar to caffeine. Goodnight, Sydney."

"Goodnight, Jarod. Don't work too late."

"Oh, Sydney?" Jarod called as one question came to him that he knew he needed to decipher this entire mess. "How did Broots know what name to research in order to find out what happened to Sam?"

"Oh, that." Sydney turned with a sour face. "One of my colleagues asked me if Miss Parker had fired her sweeper – and then told me he'd seen someone that looked like Sam working out with Willy. Miss Parker, of course, went down there first thing in the morning and got herself chased away – but not until she'd heard him referred to as Jerry and recognized his trainer. Broots chased down the trainer's schedule from there."

"So in other words, you had a clue dumped into your laps?" Jarod asked suspiciously.

The old Belgian blinked a couple of times, turning the sequence of events over in his mind in a different direction than he had before, his face eventually sagging into surprise. "I suppose it could seem that way…" he admitted, appalled at the very idea.

"So it's safe to assume that this entire situation could be a trap." Jarod piled the notebooks next to the laptop, which he'd once more pulled closer.

"I suppose it could be," Sydney replied. "But for whom?"

Jarod snorted without looking up at the older man. "This is the Centre, Sydney – and everyone who's gone AWOL has had something to do with the effort to put me back in my nice, comfy cage on a sub-level. It doesn't take a genius to do the math."

"That's going an awfully long way around just to get you back in the Centre's clutches," Sydney complained. To be of value, not for his own talents and abilities, but only as a means to an end that involved harnessing the talents and abilities of another was not only demeaning, but outright insulting.

"You never know," Jarod replied a little distractedly as he typed a few more keystrokes into his laptop and waited for the Internet connection to log him into the Centre mainframe. "You never know."

oOoOo

"What do you mean, you lost him?" Raines was livid, and Lyle was looking distinctly uncomfortable. "He's an old man, for heaven's sake – he can't run that fast…"

Tim shifted back and forth on his feet nervously. "We followed him to this little convenience store, Mr. Raines – but we knew better than to follow him inside. He's a cagey one, that one – he'd have known he was being staked out. So we pulled to the curb in front of the store and waited. After about fifteen minutes and he hadn't come back out again, we pulled in next to his car and went inside. The shop owner said that he'd left out the back almost immediately."

Raines rounded on Lyle. "This is YOUR fault. You said you had all the possible circumstances under control."

"He must have gotten into touch with someone without our knowing about it," Lyle was steamed. It was bad enough to be shown up regularly by his sister – but by Sydney? That was insulting. "The bastard must have figured out we'd be watching and listening to him and used a random phone line to arrange something. They must have been waiting for him in back while we were watching for something to happen in front." He glared at Tim. Yes, he'd most definitely be calling Willy and having this loose end – and apparently defective sweeper – taken care of, perhaps even that very evening.

"This is unacceptable," Raines wheezed with difficulty. "We won't be able to attract Jarod's attention without both Sydney and Miss Parker in our control. Our latest independent psychological profile of him indicates…"

"With all due respect, Jarod doesn't fit a regular psychological profile… sir," Lyle remembered the honorific only belatedly, "and I doubt that someone who has never met him could build up a profile that was worth enough powder to blow to Hell. I know that Sydney gave up even trying to draw up a new psych profile for him after about six months of freedom – justifying it by saying that Jarod's personality would be undergoing great transformation now that he was without the influence of the Centre to direct things along. He explained that while we might understand his motives and actions in retrospect, the longer Jarod stayed free, the more difficult it would get to accurately predict Jarod's next moves."

"Sydney was a traditionalist," Raines countered sourly, "and an obstructionist to boot. His psychological skills have done nothing to get us closer to catching Jarod for years – which is why we need to trust in the profile Dr. Abrams drew up for us. His assessment of Miss Parker's condition and her reaction to Formula 837A – as well as the actions that predicated our gaining control of her – were pinpoint accurate."

"If he's so damned smart, why didn't he predict Sydney's access to outside resources?" Lyle retorted sharply.

Raines chose to ignore the barb, and turned to Willy. "Spread your men out – and keep a sharp eye out for Jarod AND Sydney. Nine chances out of ten, they haven't gone that far – they probably think they're going to be able to rescue their friends." Raines pulled hard on the oxygen. "Besides, Jarod is arrogant – he thinks he can waltz in and out of the Centre without getting trapped. We're going to show him the error of his ways, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Raines." Willy nodded seriously. It was the order he'd been waiting for – to turn his high-powered elite team loose to look for the prodigal Pretender properly. "We'll find him for you, don't worry."

"Now get out of here!" Raines barked at Lyle. "Make sure you don't botch Miss Parker's custody – she's central to the entire Contingency project."

"She's not going anywhere…" Lyle began.

"She'd better not," Raines growled hoarsely.

oOoOo

"Oh, now, that's clever!" Jarod chortled as he was staring at the first page of the second notebook. The diagrams were easily recognizable as molecular and biochemical diagrams, and the frequency of certain elements within any known diagram was quite predictable. The number and type of bonds each element had available to it made recognizing exactly which element was being represented child's play for him. This notebook was like a Rosetta Stone, giving him the first few equivalences of symbol to letter. And he'd been right – this WAS an alphabet.

He took a clean piece of paper and began writing down the code, and then looked at a section of straight text. He used blanks to hold the places for the unknown characters and substituted English letters for the ones he was assuming were now known – and then frowned again. Whatever he was coming up with, it wasn't English.

He yawned and looked out the kitchen window, noticing that the sky in the east was already starting to get a slight glow to it. He'd worked all the way through the night. With another yawn, he collected the papers he had scattered about the table and put them back into order before returning them to the folder. Then he collected all the pages that he'd printed out from the documents Sydney had saved to the floppy disk and set those to the side – he'd have to read those after he had a chance to rest.

Jarod turned off the laptop after firing another email off to his contact inside the Centre and slipped it back into its case. He used a blank paper to save his place in the notebooks and filed those back into Sydney's briefcase and closed that – and then carried both of the articles up the stairs with him. A pause at the first door gave him the chance to hear Sydney's soft snoring within. The second door was Debbie's – he'd shown her which room to take before they'd left to pick up Sydney. The door at the end of the short hallway was his room – the one closest to the bathroom, not to mention a conveniently placed trellis, in case of Centre infiltration.

He placed the briefcase and laptop under the bed and then lay down, kicking off his shoes from there and listening to them land with dull thuds on the floor. What he'd discovered about Formula 837A was troubling – even if he hadn't had a chance to read Dr. Morrison's research notes yet. Evidently the formula was a psychotropic drug causing hallucinations upon first introduction; convulsions, apparently random incidents of blindness and confusion with continued application; and amnesia if the dosage was strong enough.

The last report had mentioned that the amnesia was of a highly selective kind, taking out conditioned responses completely and some memory. Patients detailed in that report had been given psychological treatment at the same time, and the amnesia had proven itself to be controllable. With the proper care, precise facets of personality and long-term memory could be affected, erased; and a new set of memory engrams and personality traits implanted without the patient being aware of the change.

From the sounds of things, this was what must have happened to Sam – for him to have not responded to Miss Parker calling his voice, he must have had all of his self-conditioning toward her erased, and even his memory of who he was and where he came from.

Still, the reports had indicated a flaw in the formula – a weakness that rendered the formula unusable in a mass-application setting. Dr. Morrison hadn't detailed exactly what that weakness was in her progress reports, but it was the one thing that Jarod would be looking for as he gained the upper hand on translating those research notebooks. If she were as meticulous as every other scientist he knew, she would have defined the precise terms of that weakness and tested the depth of the patient's vulnerability to memory recovery – and the consequences of retrieving those memories after long periods of amnesia.

Jarod threw his arm across his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew himself too well – he'd be working on this problem even in his sleep and probably wake up at least as tired as he was when he fell asleep. In many ways, it was just like old times: Sydney had brought to him all the information he needed to run a complete SIM, it was just up to him to put the pieces together to paint a coherent picture.

The difference this time, of course, was the welfare of Miss Parker and Broots – people that he knew and in some way cared about.

oOoOo

Willy knocked on Lyle's office door first thing in the morning – before Lyle had even had a chance to put his coffee on his desk and get settled in his chair. "What is it?" the younger Parker demanded.

"Your 'loose end' has been handled," the African-American sweeper announced in his bland and cold manner, "as you ordered."

Lyle didn't necessarily even want to know what kind of fate Willy had decided would be appropriate for Tim – he was just glad that the man was gone. "Thank you," he said with a very vague nod. "Is there anything else?"

"No, sir," Willy replied and let himself out of Lyle's office.

Lyle turned in his chair and sipped at his coffee as he stared out of the window at the broad expanse of green that stretched over the top of the hillock and ended nearly at the ocean's edge. He'd hoped that Willy would have found the wily psychiatrist that had been such a thorn in his sister's side all those years, but evidently Sydney was just as good at vanishing as Jarod ever thought of being. Like mentor, like protégé, he thought sacrilegiously.

Thinking of Jarod brought his sister to mind, and he rose to head down to the security branch of the Renewal Wing to check on her condition. When he got there, the door to the ward was wide open.

"What the Hell's going on here?" he demanded, barging right on in – only to pull quickly to a stop. Miss Parker was struggling desperately against her padded restraints at wrist and ankle, her torso arched into the air and her eyes closed. Lyle grabbed at the arm of the white-garbed psychiatrist monitoring the display of her pulse and blood pressure monitor. "What the Hell's happening to her?" he repeated.

"This is normal, Mr. Lyle," Dr. Abrams reassured him. "We can expect a certain amount of seizure, considering the size of doses of 837A we've been administering to her since we got her here."

"It… won't harm her… or…" Lyle worried.

"Don't worry," Abrams smiled at the Vice-Chairman of the Centre. "No elements of the project will be compromised by the administration of 837A at this stage of the game. My profile, however, has indicated that your sister's upbringing has made many of what would be conditioned responses in others more deeply engrained – and so, to be able to erase those parts of her personality, we'll have to press her system harder chemically. But…" The psychiatrist returned his gaze to the monitor, "…by the time it needs to be, we should be able to reduce the dosage without compromising the results – and it won't be of any consequence to the… project's final results."

"You'd better be sure," Lyle threatened. "There's an awful lot riding on the successful implementation of this project."

"I'm very sure of my figures, Mr. Lyle," Abrams replied without looking away from the monitor. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm rather busy monitoring your sister's condition…"

oOoOo

Sydney looked out into the back yard and smiled. Debbie had at last found something she could do to pass the time while cooped up in this safe house without driving the rest of them nuts. She'd taken her CD player and headphones outside and spread a couple of bath towels on the soft grass. She was now engrossed in a paperback romance novel she'd brought with her, listening to the caterwauling that she called 'music' quite contentedly.

The old psychiatrist glanced back over his shoulder at his former protégé before returning his attention to the carrots he was peeling and slicing for supper that night. Jarod was behaving just the way he remembered him behaving while on the research end of a particularly complex SIM – withdrawn and quiet and pensive when seated amid the materials, moody and uncommunicative when taking a break, slowly wearing himself to a frazzle from lack of sleep. Were it not for the far more pleasant surroundings and the fact that the food he was serving was the best that he could manage with what Jarod had provided, the two of them could easily have been back in the Sim Lab carrying on as they always had been.

"HAH!" Jarod exploded suddenly. "That's it!"

Sydney turned and saw that his old student had a huge smile on his face and was writing madly, glancing at the notebook that sat open at his left and then writing on the legal pad in front of him. "That's what?" the psychiatrist inquired carefully, not wanting to break the mood, but curious after three days of little interaction with Jarod at all.

"I have it," Jarod responded, still moving back and forth between notebook and legal pad. "This Marjorie Morrison was a wily woman – and no wonder the crypto boys at the Centre didn't get anywhere with her code. She was speaking Chumash, of all things…"

"Chumash?" Sydney frowned. "What's that?"

"The Chumash are a tribe of coastal California Indians that settled in the Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo area. What Dr. Morrison did here was to render a language with no written form into her own set of alphabet glyphs, and then write all of her research notes in a language that is literally on the verge of dying out."

Sydney's brows were up – he was impressed. "And you understand Chumash?" he asked incredulously.

Jarod shrugged. "I did a Pretend up near the Red Wing reservation – some developers were trying to cheat the tribe out of a particularly valuable hunk of property. I got in close with a couple of the elders – and they took me under their wing for a while…"

Sydney could only nod. Jarod brought out the best in people generally. "And you have this knack for languages."

"It's serving me in good stead, you gotta admit," the Pretender looked up briefly with his cat-ate-the-canary smirk and then went back to work. "I'm guessing at some of this – our Dr. Morrison was a little creative with her use of the language – but I should have the gist of it soon enough."

"And then?"

"And then we'll see what we're up against."

oOoOo

"OK, I think I have the picture now," Jarod announced around the breakfast table. "837A is a hallucinogen – it makes you see and hear things that aren't there," he explained for Debbie's benefit.

"I know the word," the girl told him frankly. "Teachers talk about them in school."

Jarod nodded. "But this is a very special hallucinogen. One of the side effects it can have is to make someone forget things – like who they are and who their family is and what they normally do."

"Do you think they made my father forget?" Debbie's eyes were wide. "Miss Parker too?"

"I can't be sure," Jarod started.

"And indication of permanency?" Sydney asked next, concerned.

This time, Jarod shook his head. "The research notes end before Dr. Morrison had had a chance to observe patients who had received the drug over a period of time when the drug wasn't administered. The research was incomplete when Dr. Morrison had her 'accident.'"

"Which you are thinking wasn't so much of an accident," Sydney guessed from his tone.

"I'm thinking that Raines – maybe Lyle, possibly both – decided that the research was taking too long for whatever plans they'd dreamed up, and moved Dr. Morrison out of the way."

"How does this help us?" Debbie looked from one sober face to another.

"Well, if your father and Miss Parker received the drug, it means there's hope. Dr. Morrison was investigating a flaw in the formula – a vulnerability to the drug as a means of wiping away a previous personality so that a new one could be implanted courtesy of intensive psychiatric therapy. She mentioned it in her progress report in passing, but was only really starting to get a handle on the parameters of that problem when…"

"She had her accident," Sydney finished for him. "What's the flaw?"

"The memories aren't completely erased, just locked away chemically in the brain. However, particularly strong memories – the sight of a loved one, a smell, a taste, a sound, anything that would evoke strong emotions – can break the lock, so that the submerged memories can surface again."

Sydney was nodding. "THAT'S why Lyle was keeping Parker away from Sam – they didn't want to kick in that flaw…"

"Very likely," Jarod nodded too. "It also explains why they came for Debbie after taking her father, if you think about it."

"You're SURE that you can break this amnesia drug, Jarod?" Debbie asked, leaning forward anxiously.

"I'm fairly certain," Jarod hedged. "I won't know, however, until I have someone to test out the theory."

Sydney shot him a discouraging look. "You don't mean…"

"I mean that we need a guinea pig – so that we can find out just how difficult it is to trigger this lock-breaking flaw." Jarod's face was stony. "We can't afford to try anything on Broots or Miss Parker until we know the consequences of messing with their minds again."

"You need Sam," Debbie stated, seeing where Jarod's thinking was heading.

"You're going to break into the Centre…" Sydney was sounding more incredulous by the moment. "Do you have any idea just how dangerous…"

"We have no choice, Sydney – unless you intend to raise Debbie yourself for the next six or eight years."

Debbie gazed at the kindly psychiatrist who was one of her father's closest friends. "I want my dad back, Sydney," she told him in a soft voice. "I want Miss Parker back. But I don't want anything bad to happen to Sam either…"

"Just how the Hell do you intend to GET Sam, Jarod?" Sydney's frown grew deeper.

"I have an idea…" Jarod replied, "…but I'll need a little help."


	6. Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Chapter 6 – Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Many years ago, when it had been fashionable, Sydney had smoked cigarettes. He'd been young – the majority of the psych and pre-med students at Yale at the time had smoked, and he'd wanted to fit in. Of course by the time he'd worked at the Centre for a year or more, the dry air in the sublevels had started to react with the smoke he filled his lungs with in the evenings, and he'd been forced to quit or risk developing bronchitis. He'd tried cigars and a pipe – but the fact was that tobacco smoke and ultra-dry ventilated air in rapid succession over the course of a day was raising Hell with his respiratory system, and so he'd set aside his one vice reluctantly. True to the adage that there is no more vehement non-smoker than a converted ex-smoker, he had worked hard to dissuade Miss Parker of her habit when they had been thrown into the hunt for Jarod together. The day she had announced that she'd finally quit, Sydney had quietly rejoiced.

Not in many, many years had he been so tempted to buy a pack of cigarettes and light one up again – but tonight was something else. Sydney had waited until it was dark – waited until the dishes were done and Debbie was engrossed in a television drama and Jarod was busy on his laptop again – and then he'd wandered out into the back yard to be alone and think. For the past three days, he'd not allowed himself to think, to muse or even to wonder. For the past three days, he'd kept his focus on Debbie – keeping her spirits up and keeping her from disrupting Jarod's necessary work. Now, with Jarod's plan on the table and with very little by way of an alternative to its huge risk, he couldn't afford not to take the time to review and reflect on things.

The plan itself was audacious and daring – and more than a little dangerous to all concerned. Jarod had contacted someone INSIDE the Centre, who was now feeding him detailed information about 'Jerry Silva's' work schedule and living quarters and free-time activities. This same contact – the same one who probably had been the one to assist Jarod in staying ahead of Miss Parker's team all along – would be present and accounted for when the time came to get Sam out of the Centre so his tampered memory could hopefully be set aright again.

But this contact couldn't do everything alone. No, both Jarod and Sydney would have to make their way into the Centre and be there to help subdue probably one of the strongest men the Centre had ever hired – and then haul him out again without being detected. Even Debbie would have a part in this drama – already armed with a learner's permit to drive, she would be at the wheel of Jarod's SUV, ready to take them all back down a little-known cow path near a virtually unsecured edge of the Centre property the moment the men had Sam loaded into the car.

Sydney put his face in his hands. It had been years since he'd been as torn as he was in that moment. To put one person – two people – he held dear in mortal danger, including risking his own neck, in order to begin a rescue attempt on two – three – other people he also held dear was to ask for almost too much of him. The more he thought about it, he could see that this was a trap – all carefully planned to get Jarod in precisely the place they wanted him in. What was more, he couldn't know what kind of danger any rescue attempt would call down upon Miss Parker's head or Broots' if things came out into the open too soon. He did know all too well the penalty for disloyalty among sweepers, however – if caught; Sam's destiny was an extremely short and final one.

What was more, it was finally sinking in that after decades of being one of the ultimate survivors at the Centre by never completely taking sides in anything, he had hightailed it away from the Centre like a chicken the moment it had become clear that his own neck was on the block. He'd walked – no, not walked, run – away from Miss Parker, and Broots, and Sam… just left them there… What did that say about him as a responsible, trustworthy human being? Jarod had made a point over the years of his freedom of telling him how he couldn't trust him – how Sydney's betrayals and/or not standing up to defend him had made him leery of putting too much faith in him anymore. Maybe Jarod was right…

"You've been pretty quiet tonight," Jarod's voice sounded behind him, and suddenly Sydney had company sitting down on the bottom back porch step next to him. "What's up?"

Sydney looked out over the dark yard and then up into the moonlit sky. "I'm discovering that I'm not a very brave man," he admitted with ruthless honesty, "and I worry that your plan is too dangerous. I don't want to jeopardize anything…"

Jarod sat and considered his former mentor's statements. "I don't know about your bravery, Sydney," he replied at last, "but I'm very aware of how dangerous what we're planning to do is. Tell me that you don't want to help Miss Parker and Broots get away from the Centre and whatever is being done to them – or that you think your taking part will endanger the overall plan – and I'll rethink the logistics with your participation left out."

The Belgian cringed. "That's not what I meant…"

"But that's what it boils down to," Jarod pressed. "How much is it worth to you to get your friends out of there and maybe help put a stop to something that has the potential to be truly monstrous? How much are you willing to risk? Could you live with yourself if you stood by and watched whatever it is that they want to do to them without trying to stop it – the way you stood by and let them do what they wanted to me all those years?"

"I never just stood by… I didn't know…" Sydney cried, cut to the quick by the accusation.

"Well, not knowing isn't a luxury you have this time," Jarod's voice was implacable. "You know exactly what's going on in there – and you know that Miss Parker and Broots are caught up in the middle of it. You can either help, or know that you're standing aside and leaving them to their fate."

"I never said I wasn't going to help you," Sydney's voice was small.

"I know," Jarod replied a little more kindly. "But I had to make you see that we really don't have any choice – and that your bravery or mine under the circumstances has very little to do with it. People we care about are trapped in there – trapped by sweepers and by a drug that has probably robbed them of any sense of who they really are. The only way they'll get free of that trap is for you and me and Debbie not to let the risks keep us from shooting for the benefits. We may succeed, and we may fail – but we know what happens if we do nothing. All I need to know is whether you're in, or whether you're out."

Sydney didn't hesitate. "I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't do something." He glanced at his protégé. "You know I couldn't."

Jarod nodded, not letting slide that he was breathing a sigh of relief. "I was counting on it, actually."

Sydney looked back up at the sky. Jarod was right to boil this down to its most basic elements – and to point out that there really was no choice for any of them in the matter. Trustworthy or no, his help was needed if they were going to successfully extract Sam – who was probably the least-well guarded of the missing three. Once his memory had been restored, Sam could be sent back into the Centre to continue to play the part that Raines had set out for him, pending acquiring enough information to extract Broots and eventually Miss Parker.

This was not a time for him to be second-guessing himself or his own abilities. Broots' and Miss Parker's very wellbeing depended upon his talents as a psychiatrist, to find the memory key that would unlock Sam's subsumed personality – for without that, they were undoubtedly doomed. There could be no standing in the shadows or on the sidelines for him anymore – he had to declare himself on one side of this conflict or the other, and then live with the consequences of his actions. For once his survival didn't depend upon maintaining an incredible sense of balance while sitting on a razor-edge fence and leaning slightly to one side or the other.

"I really didn't know what they were doing, you know, back then…" Sydney insisted after his long moment of mental discipline. "They always waited until I was gone…"

"C'mon… You're an intelligent and observant man, Sydney – you HAD to know something," Jarod shook his head. "Every time you came back from one of your trips or vacations, I was a basket case – and a couple of times, I was even in the Renewal Wing. Surely you must have wondered what was going on after that happened once too many times. But you never said a word…"

Sydney's eyes closed slowly and painfully. Jarod was right again – he had guessed early on that something would invariably be up the moment he went on vacation or participated in some seminar or conference. And yet, he'd said nothing – not to Jarod; not to Mr. Raines, whom he suspected of tampering with his Pretender at every opportunity; and not to Mr. Parker, his direct superior, the man who had given Jarod to him over Raines' strident objections. "I'm so sorry," he murmured finally.

"It doesn't help," Jarod replied coolly, "but it doesn't matter anymore either. What you did or didn't do for me is in the past and can't be undone. The question is whether you can do better for Miss Parker – whether you've learned from your mistakes so that nobody else suffers while you stand by and say nothing again."

Sydney finally looked long and hard at his former protégé. Jarod had matured a great deal during his years of freedom – freedom from the Centre and freedom from even his well-meaning manipulation. This wasn't a naïve man-child dumped out into a world he only barely understood anymore. No wonder he hadn't been calling so often – he was finally learning to fit in, to understand the larger world outside the Centre walls – and without any expressed emotional ties between the two of them to hold them together, Jarod had no reason to maintain contact anymore. "Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?" he asked his former student mournfully.

"I don't know, Sydney," Jarod answered truthfully. "Let's see how this next day or two goes, shall we? Let's see if things have really changed enough with you that I can see a reason to reconsider."

Sydney nodded and fell silent again. That was about as fair a proposition as he'd heard in a long while. If he wanted Jarod's forgiveness, he'd have to earn it – and to do that, he'd have to walk into the fire with his eyes wide open and pray to a God he could no longer believe in that he stood even half a chance of walking out the other side again in doing for Miss Parker and Broots what he hadn't been able to talk himself into doing for Jarod.

And if he could finally earn Jarod's forgiveness, there was a very slim, outside chance that he'd be able to begin to forgive himself.

oOoOo

"It's been four days – what do you mean, you still can't find them?" Raines was infuriated, and for the first time in a very long time, Willy was catching the brunt of that temper.

"Face it, Jarod and Sydney must have gone to ground somewhere," Lyle tried to smooth things over. "Our men aren't going to catch wind of them if they stay huddled down in the same place and don't come out."

"We're reaching the end of our most fertile window in 'Contingency' for the next month or two," Raines countered peevishly. "I want 'Contingency' moved into phase three before that window closes and we have to sit and wait for the next one."

"We'll find them, sir," Willy reassured his boss, his voice filled with as much confidence as he could muster, "even if we have to start a house-to-house search here in Blue Cove."

"What if they aren't IN Blue Cove?" Raines asked, his watery blue eyes snapping. "What if they're in Dover, for example?"

Lyle and Willy exchanged a glance. "We've got men stationed outside most major grocery stores – figuring that they'll have to come out for supplies eventually. But be reasonable – we can't do house-to-house searches in Dover or anywhere that we don't own the town lock, stock and barrel. It would cause too much comment – and that, we don't need." Lyle's voice was firm. "We've been looking for Jarod for almost ten years – I don't think we're going to find him with Sydney in less than four days."

"We need him – NOW – or we'll have to wait for another month!"

"Considering what we have planned, keeping Jarod on ice for a month or so – however long it takes until we know we have what we need – isn't going to be a problem. Have you considered we could retrain him and put him back to work…" Lyle was warming up to a plan he'd had for a while.

Raines shook his head. "It's one thing to give a normal person 837A – we have absolutely no indication what affect it would have on a trained Pretender. Jarod's value is no longer in the work he could do for us – that ability has been tainted and ruined now by too many outside influences. His sole value is in supplying the building blocks with which we can create more of him. Once we know we have that…"

"I'd like to try…"

"No." Raines' voice was as final as the tomb. "Find him, and let's get everything we need from him. After that, he's expendable. And as for Sydney…" Raines' eyes closed, and when they opened again, they were cold as ice. "He's a security risk at best, a traitor at worst. Once we have Jarod, we have no need for him. But if we find him before we find Jarod, we do to Sydney what we've done to the rest of them – and force Jarod to come for them all. Then we get rid of the ones we can do without – starting with Sydney."

Lyle grinned. He had no love for the eccentric and brilliantly obstructionist psychiatrist either. "I'll handle that one myself," he said.

"Find them!" Raines yelled at both the men in his office. "Don't come back in here until you have them!"

Willy and Lyle glanced at each other and turned in unison to walk through the etched glass doors. "We're going to need a plan," Willy said quietly as he kept to Lyle's side on the way to the elevator.

"Come down to my office," Lyle invited. "We'll discuss how to handle this there."

oOoOo

Jarod steered the mini SUV over the bumps in the rutted road with care and then pulled to a stop behind a tall stand of trees, underbrush and bushes. "You understand what you're supposed to do?" he asked Debbie for the second time.

The girl nodded. "I stay here and wait until either you or Sydney or both of you come back with Sam; or I wait until sunrise, and when nobody comes, I then drive to the Dover Police Station and explain everything there. I'm to ask for Officer Downing – and wait until I can speak to him directly."

"That's right." Jarod got out from behind the steering wheel so that Debbie could have the room to climb in. He stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "Are you going to be able to do this?"

Debbie nodded again with a somber look on her face. "I've got your watch, with the alarm set for five o'clock tomorrow morning, in case I fall asleep. I'll be OK – I can be strong for my dad."

"Good girl." Jarod turned to his mentor, whom he could hardly see against the darkness of the foliage surrounding the SUV. "You ready, Sydney?"

"Whenever you are," came the rejoinder. "Hang in there, Debbie – we'll be back as soon as we can."

"I will, Sydney." Debbie looked from one dark shadow of a man to the other. "You two be careful – and good luck!"

"C'mon." Jarod nudged Sydney, and the two black-clad men hurried off along the edge of the Centre property.

"Are you sure that you can trust the Dover Police to play cavalry, if the need arises?" Sydney asked skeptically. "How can you be sure that they aren't mostly in the Centre's back pocket – and willing to overlook just about anything…"

"I know Downing – I helped him out a while back. He knows about the Centre too – he's been in the department long enough to have seen things and had questions that he'd been ordered never to look for answers to. He'll see to it that Debbie stays safe."

"How far is it?"

"It isn't how far, it's getting from over here in the trees to that shed over here." Jarod's barely visible finger pointed out at a small wooden structure about halfway across the manicured lawn between the trees and the main Centre structure. "We'll be out in the open for a while – and we'll have to pray that they haven't put more security on over here."

"Do we run, or do we crawl?" Sydney eyed the little building with trepidation.

"We run – but not yet." Jarod grabbed his mentor's arm and pulled him forward again. "It's closer to the trees up a little farther. The less yardage we have to cover quickly, the better."

Sydney suited his pace to keep up with Jarod. "What's in the building?"

"Access to the Centre," Jarod answered darkly. "Some of the ventilation system machinery – which means some of the ductwork."

"To the sublevels, you mean."

"Exactly. That's where we'll meet up with my contact – who'll know exactly where Sam is right now and have the supplies we'll need to subdue him quickly."

Sydney refrained from commenting, knowing that Jarod was placing an immense amount of trust in this unknown contact, yet unwilling to be quite so cavalier about it. Jarod stopped moving suddenly, making Sydney nearly walk into the back of him before halting himself. "Here," the Pretender said. "On the count of three…"

"Jarod…"

"One… Two… THREE!"

Both men broke from their cover at the edge of the trees and dashed across the lawn and into the shadow of the little structure. "Quiet!" Jarod whispered harshly as he leaned against the wooden siding, listening to see whether an alarm had been raised.

Sydney leaned hard against the building's side, working hard to keep from panting aloud and praying that his heart wouldn't break through his ribs before it slowed back down again. Going with Miss Parker on the occasional trek to one of Jarod's lairs hadn't required much in the way of physical exertion for a while now – and even two days a week in the Centre gym for the last three months hadn't made much headway in restoring his physical stamina to what it once had been.

"C'mon," Jarod whispered and grabbed at him again, and Sydney pushed away from the sturdy wall to follow his protégé around the front of the building to the door. Jarod tinkered with the lock for only a couple of moments before he was pulling it out of the loop, moving the hasp aside and pushing the door open. Both men slipped into the building quickly, and then Jarod closed the door behind them.

Now what? Sydney didn't even voice his question – because Jarod had unhooked the flashlight from his belt and had the beam on the floor despite there being no windows to the outside. The huge fan and motor assembly stood in the middle of the floor like a boulder of sharp, square metal, thrumming at a very low register. Jarod moved with the ease of familiarity to the assembly and pulled open a grate. "We go through here," he directed, then stepped through in to the confined space. "Close the grate after you," he cautioned Sydney before moving too far ahead.

Sydney had never been inside the ventilation system – nor had he realized just how easily a normal person could begin to feel claustrophobic in such a setting. He had to fight an urge to turn back – to get to a place where the metal walls weren't closing in on him and he could stand erect again – in order to continue to follow the flickering of Jarod's flashlight. He couldn't understand how the sound of their footfalls couldn't help but attract attention, but Jarod seemed to be completely unfazed by the noise they were making.

Not only that, but Jarod seemed to know exactly where they were going – not even hesitating to make the proper choice when they came to junctions, but turning left or right or moving straight ahead with confidence. He was moving smoothly and quickly – although slowly enough that he wouldn't have to try to turn around in the narrow passage and rejoin his slower cohort.

Then he saw Jarod pause at last, and then disappear into the metal floor as they reached the first vertical drop. Luckily, there was a lightweight aluminum ladder mounted in the side of the shaft – so that both men could simply climb down the ladder the way they would to get down from a tree. Sydney hadn't the slightest idea that such conveniences had ever been put into place in a system that technically WASN'T for crawling around in.  
"How much further?" he whispered harshly down the shaft.

"Just a bit more," was the reply up the shaft in return, and then the pool of light that was Jarod paused again and vanished to Sydney's right. The vertical drop was finished, and they were once more moving laterally. Ahead of Jarod, Sydney suddenly saw another light source, and he began to breathe just a little easier – despite being thoroughly winded. How the Hell they were going to get Sam up that shaft with them was beyond him!

Jarod vanished from ahead of him into what must have been a larger area, and the sound of soft voices echoed back at Sydney. He pushed ahead and finally stuck his head out into a multiple fan assembly area, where he came face to face with a grinning Angelo. "Hi, Sydney," the empath greeted him shyly and then turned his attention back to Jarod. "Sam working out in gym," he informed the pair succinctly.

"How many others are there?" Jarod inquired quickly.

Angelo shook his head. "Too late for company or coaches. Sam alone."

Jarod turned to Sydney with the beginnings of a smile. "Luck's on our side, it seems."

"How the Hell are we going to get him to come with us?" Sydney worried aloud at last. "Do you intend to have him chase us back through the ventilation system without having called for backup first?"

"Sydney silly," Angelo commented to Jarod with a chuckle.

"Sydney practical," Jarod corrected gently. "No worries, Sydney. Part of the reason Angelo's here is to deliver a syringe with one of my concoctions in it – you remember Rohypnol – it has the street name of 'Roofie'... It tends to make a person VERY suggestible and compliant – and the mixture I have here is very quick-acting as well." He scowled as a thought occurred to him. "You know, Sydney, if I had known back then how many women would end up victims of assault as a result of…"

"Damn it, Jarod, if I had known what was being done with your research I'd have burned my notes myself!" Sydney rejoined bitterly. "You don't seem to understand that what the Centre did with our work was as much a betrayal of my research as it was of yours."

"Not argue!" Angelo looked back and forth from one man to the other with a pained expression on his face. "Both right – BOTH betrayed! Not important now - Sam important now."

"He's right." Sydney took a deep breath, both to calm his breathing as well as his outrage. "We can argue this point later, back at your safe house. Right now, we should keep our minds on what we're here to accomplish. Distraction – and unnecessary conflict – can only disrupt our concentration and lessen our chances of getting out of here in one piece."

Jarod glared at him, and then backed down and nodded curtly. Angelo was right, although it was a hard concession to make. Sydney had been betrayed too – as much as he hated to admit it – and either way, it wasn't important at the moment. They had to stay focused on Sam, and getting him dosed and then out of the Centre without calling too much attention to their activities. He looked back down at his old friend. "Any idea how long he's going to be in the gym, Angelo?"

Angelo's red head nodded vigorously. "Sam upset about something – will be there for a while. You have time." He waved for the others to follow. "Come on – need to go."

Jarod glanced at Sydney as Angelo headed off and ducked into another long metal tunnel. "After you," Sydney gestured broadly and gracefully, still stinging from Jarod's criticism.

The Pretender just nodded, his dark eyes glinting in the reflection of the flashlight beam against metallic walls, and then dove into the duct behind Angelo. Sydney sighed and moved to follow the others, wondering if maybe having the chance to spend time with Jarod again WASN'T going to be such a grand opportunity after all. Jarod's bitterness against the Centre and against him personally had apparently festered badly over the years – there was a deep vein of anger and resentment that was beginning to swell and threaten to burst in his direction. He'd known that eventually these things would need airing – but not imagined the potential for hurt as well as healing it would hold.

oOoOo

"What about the cameras?" Jarod asked very softly, peering over Angelo's shoulder and through the grate at the sight of Sam – or more properly, Sam's back – as the sweeper sat at the weight table hefting an eye-popping collection of weights in rhythmic pulls of his arms.

"Looped." Angelo pointed, and Jarod grinned and patted his friend on the shoulder. None of the cameras had their evil red lights on – meaning that the feed going to the surveillance monitors at this point was NOT what was going on at that moment.

"Locker room too?"

The red hair flopped as the question earned another vigorous nod.

Jarod backed up a bit. "What's the word?" Sydney demanded, wishing he could have seen just a little.

"We take this vent to the right, let ourselves down into the locker room so we can come up behind Sam without his hearing us. I can have the Rohypnol in him before he knows what's happening."

Sydney backed up, as requested, so that Jarod and Angelo could once more take the lead. "What then?"

Jarod shrugged as his friend pushed past him to lead the way down the ventilation shaft toward the locker room. "Then, when he calms down, we get him into these vents, and head out the way we came in." He could see that Sydney was thinking that he was making this sound a whole lot easier than it was going to be in actuality – and his old mentor was right about that. He gestured. "Follow me."

The locker room, like the gym, was empty as the vent in the side of the wall slowly opened on hinges to allow three men to slowly emerge. Jarod opened the little pouch and pulled a pre-loaded syringe from it, took the needle-guard off so that he could make sure to clear the air from the injection, and then put the guard back on and put the syringe between his teeth. Angelo stood at the door to the gym, peering through the window, and then signaled.

Silently, the three made their way across the polished hardwood floor to where Sam still sat with his back to them, pulling the weights up and down in a steady rhythm. Jarod held the needle guard in his teeth, then nodded for Angelo and Sydney to suddenly grab both of Sam's arms as the needle sank into the soft flesh of the sweeper's neck. The two at Sam's side held on for dear life as the strong sweeper attempted to rise from his exercise station and break free. Meanwhile, Jarod sheathed the syringe quickly and slipped it into his pocket so he could stuff the greater portion of a clean shop rag into Sam's mouth to stifle the yells and then lend his weight to leaning on Sam's shoulders and holding him almost immobile until the drug took effect – which wasn't going to be long.

He'd assessed Sam's weight and general health into the dose, which he'd made on the generous size. He'd also banked on Sam potentially growing more violent as the drug took effect, so the dose had included a mild sedative that wasn't enough to knock the man out but enough to control any urges that three normal-sized men wouldn't be able to handle. As it was, this was going to be a very long ten minutes or so – although the effects of the sedative would probably kick in a little more quickly.

Sure enough, Sam began to relax within five minutes, and gazed around him dazedly. Jarod obligingly removed the gag so that the sweeper could once more communicate. After all, they'd need his cooperation to get him out of here. "Who are you guys?" he demanded in an almost drunken voice after a few sputters to take care of the dryness of his mouth and clear it of lint.

"Friends," Angelo told him gently, daring to let go of the arm that was as thick as a tree trunk. "Here to help."

"Help what?" Sam asked, turning in confusion to stare at Sydney. "Hey! Don't I know you…?"

"Yes, you do," Sydney replied with equal gentleness. He looked up into Jarod's face. "Do you think we can…"

"Yes," Jarod replied and slipped beneath one of Sam's arms as he signaled for Sydney to follow suit. "C'mon, big fella – time to go."

"Go where?" Sam slurred, struggling to his feet.

"Somewhere safe," Angelo reassured him and went before the others to open the locker room door for them. "In there," he pointed to the ventilation duct.

"Why?" Sam wanted to know, his brows furling together. "Are you guys even supposed to be here?"

"This is a drill, Jerry," Jarod said quickly. "We need to know if you can make it to the surface and out of the Centre in case of an emergency while under the influence. Now, Angelo will lead the way…"

"Hokay." Sam shook his head. Many things of late that had been happening to him and around him hadn't been making a lot of sense – but Mr. Raines had told him to just go along with things and everything would be explained to him later on. This must be another one of those instances – using people that had just a hint of familiarity to them to get him to do things he wouldn't normally do. Obediently, he ducked his head and reconciled himself to being nearly crushed by the tightness of the fit of the duct around his husky body.

"You go first," Jarod told Sydney as Sam's hulk vanished into the duct. "I'll bring up the rear – and protect the three of you…"

"Jarod…"

"Go, Sydney! Sam needs you more than he needs me right now!" Jarod pointed to the open grate. "If we want to rescue Miss Parker and Broots, you've got to unlock what's in his head. You're the shrink – I only Pretend to be one from time to time. Now get going!"

Sydney swallowed his protests at the logic behind Jarod's instructions, and he folded his body so that he could once more fit into that claustrophobic little tunnel. As he moved slowly down the duct behind Sam, he could hear Jarod clambering into the vent behind him and the click of the grate snapping shut once more. Then it was a simple question of following the moving feet of the man in front of him – through the fan assembly again and into the next network of metal vents until each of them had pushed through into the vertical shaft and was clambering up the ladder again.

Angelo's voice could be heard as he reached the top of that long ladder, urging Sam to keep coming and that they were almost out. But as he continued down that last stretch of metal ductwork, he couldn't hear the sound of Jarod moving behind him. The duct was too small for him to turn around in – so he continued forward until he finally was pushing out the grate in the little building near the edge of Centre property. Then he crawled out as quickly as possible and then turned about and stuck his head back in. "Jarod!" he yelled. He stood up quickly when he got no reply and stared at Angelo. "Where did he go?" he demanded, as if the little empathy could know such a thing.

"Gone for Daughter," Angelo murmured sadly. "They'll find him."

"We've got to stop him…" Sydney cried and reached for the vent opening to start back into the system once more.

"No, Sydney," Angelo said with a shake of his head. "I go – I watch. You go with him," he jerked his head at Sam, "help HIM. And watch for email." Angelo turned to Sam. "You go with Sydney now – he knows next step in this drill, OK?"

"OK." Sam's voice was definitely slurred and sleepy. He wasn't in any shape to argue – all he wanted to do was get somewhere where he could lay down and sleep.

"Go now," Angelo urged Sydney, taking the psychiatrist and pulling him so that Sam could lean on him. "Go quickly."

Sydney could do little but shoulder Sam's weight and push out through the door. "Don't forget to lock again," Angelo called to him as he climbed back into the ventilation system. Sydney turned and carefully replaced the hasp on the loop and secured the lock without pushing it closed again. He was no lock pick – and they were going to have to be able to get back into the Centre somehow when the time came to liberate Broots and then Miss Paarker, and now probably Jarod as well. He then shouldered Sam's nearly insensate weight and moved the two of them first into the trees and then along the perimeter of the property until the path that he and Jarod had come down presented itself.

"Where's Jarod?" Debbie demanded frantically as Sam was slumped into the back seat of the SUV and Sydney climbed into the passenger seat beside her.

"He'll be OK," Sydney told her – and himself – firmly. "Go!"


	7. Fox in the Henhouse

Chapter 7 – Fox in the Henhouse

Jarod watched at the grate while the sweeper monitoring the security surveillance for the Renewal Wing flipped slowly through all of the varying camera angles for each of the feeds. He knew that somewhere, more than likely down here in the SL-19 medical facility, was Miss Parker. She would never have submitted easily, he knew, that just wasn't in her nature at all. So she had probably been overcome – by brute strength, if he knew Lyle's and Raines' style at all – and may have suffered the kind of injury that would land her down here. He wouldn't know until he'd sat here long enough to make sure that the sweeper had flipped through all of the feeds at least once.

There she was! Jarod's gaze focused tightly on the small image on the little monitor at the bottom right of the bank of monitors. She was in the Renewal Wing all right, just as he'd suspected, lying on a hospital-style bed with… with restraints at hands and ankles and wide leather straps across her torso! From where he was, face pressed against the backside of the ventilation grating almost ten feet away, it looked as if she was asleep. He quickly took note of the room designation at the bottom of the screen, so he could find it when he went after her for real. It was just as well he remembered to do that when he did, for the image flipped once more, and the view of Miss Parker was exchanged for that of an extremely old and feeble man attempting to feed himself jello with his skeletal fingers. Just to be safe, Jarod took note of the room designation of the old man as well and noted that it was just down the hall from Miss Parker's.

Jarod very carefully backed away from the grating, never lifting a knee or hand or elbow so as to make the slightest sound until he'd backed quite a ways into the vent – all the way back to the last junction. From here, he'd have to find a safe place to get out of the vents and into some sort of disguise that would give him access to at least the corridors outside the Renewal Wing itself. He liked the overalls and cap that he could probably get away with as a janitor, and aimed himself down the vent at right angles to the one he'd just been in that he knew would end him up in a supply room. As he pushed the little grate open on its hinges, he wondered if Mr. Parker had ever missed that set of engineering blueprints of the Centre that had been quietly lifted from the archives years earlier. He hoped not – for many of the vulnerabilities that he'd been able to take advantage of over the years had come after many days spent poring over those documents and finding hiding places just like this one that were scattered throughout the facility.

With a pair of janitor's overalls pulled over the dark jumpsuit he'd been wearing, and a Centre-drab baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, Jarod took firm hold on the bucket and mop that would finish his impromptu Pretend and opened the supply room door. As he'd expected, nobody gave the janitorial staff a second glance – not even sweepers. Confident in his anonymity now, he was able to make his way down one corridor, around the corner and then down the next until he was just around the corner from the security desk that sat just outside the Renewal Wing entrance itself.

He paused for a moment, assembling the ruse he would use to get past the security desk, and then moved toward the sweeper with a rolling, bored gait. "Got a wet cleanup in room 540A, he announced, flashing his purloined and altered Centre ID that had him identified as Jake Hunter, janitor third class.

"I wasn't notified…" the sweeper started belligerently.

"Fine with me," Jarod shrugged nonchalantly. "Last thing I want to have to do is clean up after some old fart can't eat his Jello without putting most of it on the floor."

"What room designation was that again?" the sweeper asked, evidently reconsidering.

"540A," Jarod answered in an impatient tone. "Look – normally I'm due to be starting on the mezzanine right now – they called me because the others got going sooner than I did. So either I get in right away and get this mess cleaned up, or let me go back up to my regular job – and you can explain to the nursing supervisor why the cleanup she ordered didn't happen."

The sweeper looked up the inhabitant of that room, saw that it was indeed a very old man, and then pushed the buzzer. "Go on," he waved Jarod through.

"About time," Jarod grumbled in just the proper tone for the circumstances and pushed through the swinging door and into the long hallway beyond. At the end he could see another sweeper sitting in a chair in the hallway, obviously guarding the entrance of one of the rooms. He made his way slowly down the hall until he was almost at the chair so that he could confirm that the number of the room being guarded was indeed Miss Parker's room. Then he pretended to glance up at the room numbers and doubled back on himself to the room that he'd stated he was there to clean.

"Wait a moment!" came the call from the far end of the hallway, made in a voice that Jarod had hoped and prayed that he'd never hear again in his life. He glanced down the hallway and saw Lyle and a pair of very burly, very intent sweepers bearing down on him. A glance in the other direction told him that the sweeper in front of Miss Parker's room had turned and was watching him very closely. He could go into the old man's room and potentially put an innocent in danger while attempting to escape back into the ventilation system – or he could just admit that this had NOT been a very well thought out plan and wait for Lyle to just take him into custody.

There HAD been no plan for him to pull this stunt – if Sydney had been here, he'd have deserved the chewing out his old mentor would have so effectively handed out. Angelo's insistence that focus stay on Sam and getting the sweeper away from the Centre quickly and cleanly had been right – but he just couldn't resist proving that he was able to get in and out on his own. Sam was with Sydney now – they'd be able to complete the plan he'd laid out the evening before even with out him – only now they'd have to try to fit in plans to rescue HIM as well, which would make the plan even more dangerous than it had been before. No doubt he would merit the same kind of high-level security that Miss Parker did.

Lyle walked up to the man waiting patiently for him next to a full bucket with a mop sticking out of it, and then he smiled widely. "Thought you'd pulled one over on us, didn't you?" Lyle's smile turned into a smirk. He gave a curt signal, and the two sweepers behind him swept forward and took hold of Jarod's arms. Lyle reached up and pulled the baseball cap from his head. "Trouble is, Jarod, you're predictable on a certain level. I just KNEW that you'd try something. That's why I had given orders to the sweeper at the desk to report anything that happened that didn't come with a written set of orders."

Jarod's dark chocolate gaze was smoldering. "What did you do to her, Lyle?"

Lyle's eyes widened in blatantly false innocence. "What did I do to whom, Jarod – to my darling twin sister?" He smirked again, making Jarod test the hold the two sweepers had on him. "I didn't do anything – but Dr. Abrams has been doing several things to her. You'll be able to experience some of what was done first-hand soon enough. Trust me." He nodded to the sweepers. "Take him to room 580B – the one right next to hers, as you know," he added for Jarod's sake, then looked at the sweepers again. "Make SURE that he's well restrained. We don't want to have to go looking for him before we can get what we need from him, do we?"

Jarod dragged his heels, but that didn't stop the walk down the hallway to past the door behind which was Miss Parker – and then to the door beyond. He swallowed when he saw the hospital bed with restraints at the ready. No, this hadn't been a good idea at all.

oOoOo

Debbie was short, but she was able to shoulder her share of Sam's nearly dead weight to get him into the house. Sydney directed them toward the kitchen, and finally had her help him drop the semi-conscious sweeper into one of the kitchen chairs before running for the duct tape. As much as he didn't want to do this, he knew that Sam would have to be immobilized before he started to come out from under the drug fog that Jarod had given him, lest he run back to the Centre and turn the two of them in.

"Is he going to be OK?" Debbie worried at him as she watched him wrap wrists firmly to thighs and chests to chair backs and ankles and knees to chair legs.

"If we can find the right memory to trigger the barrier between his own memories and the new identity the Centre has conditioned into him to come down, he will be," Sydney replied, his voice showing his reservations. "Otherwise, we're going to have to keep him like this for quite a while."

"What about Jarod?" she asked finally, looking into Sydney's face expectantly. "Are we going to have to go after him now, too?"

"Eventually, with any luck," Sydney answered. "Why don't you go on to bed or to watch TV for a while now – the drugs that Jarod gave him will take some time to wear off, and I won't be able to work with him much before then."

Debbie eyed the older man in frustration. "I'm not a child, Sydney – I'm almost sixteen years old. I don't have school in the morning, because I'm over here with you to keep out from the Centre's path, so I've no reason to get up early."

Sydney smiled. The girl was too bright for her own good. "That may be true," he reasoned gently, "but there's still going to be absolutely nothing more to see in here until he begins to wake up – and I get to start trying to trigger a strong memory to break through the drug's effect. You might as well get some rest…"

"Do you promise you'll call me…"

"Yes, cheri, I promise to call you," Sydney sighed in amusement. "Now, will you 'take five', as I believe it's said?"

The young blonde got a look on her face that told him that his attempt at speaking "youth speak" had failed miserably. "Remember, you promised," she insisted and flounced from the kitchen after shooting one last look at Sam, still dozing in his chair. "I'll be on the couch" she called back over her shoulder.

Sydney shook his head, deciding that he was probably wise to leave the raising of young people today to their parents, and walked over to the sink to make himself a pot of coffee. It was going to be a very long night.

oOoOo

"Wait a minute," Lyle complained as Mr. Raines gestured at Dr. Abrams. "I thought we were just going to get what we needed from him and then get rid of him."

Raines didn't lift his eyes from where Abrams was carefully slipping the needle of a syringe full of slightly yellowish liquid into the bend of Jarod's arm. "This entire project is about creating backup plans for backup plans that will keep the Centre on track and profitable decades, if not centuries, into the future." He pulled noisily on his oxygen. "That means not wasting time or money guarding him with sweepers when we can render him docile and compliant with drugs. We may not be able to have him doing SIMs anymore – but we can at least wait until we KNOW we have the genetic mixture right on the next generation before putting him down – and giving him 837A is the quickest and most reliable means of accomplishing that."

"I wanted to…" Lyle started again.

"What you wanted is immaterial to the needs of the Centre," Raines ground out in a tortured tone. "And for that reason, you will stay away from Jarod – in case seeing you triggers his memory."

"Now wait a minute…"

"And I want you to stay away from Miss Parker too, for the same reason. 'Contingency' is at a delicate phase right now – I don't want her remembering and putting her entire system through shock. You will concentrate all your attention on finding the ones who escaped our net – Sydney and Debbie. They are…" Raines ran out of air and pulled on his oxygen again in a desperate gasp. "…loose ends – and a threat to Centre security."

When Lyle opened his mouth to argue again, he saw Willy take one small step forward – and he reconsidered. "All right," he grumbled, not at all happy to be removed from his ability to gloat over his two most challenging adversaries being rendered vulnerable and ineffective. "In the morning. I'll start in the morning."

"You do that," Raines growled and finally turned to glare at the younger man. This young pup of a Parker was dangerous and devious – and probably coveted the Chairman's seat. It wouldn't do to hand over the Centre to such an unstable individual until the security of Centre profit-making potential was restored and assured.

Lyle knew better than to engage in a staring match with the man who claimed to be his real father – the man who had taken him away and eventually given him to abusive parents and had a hand in abusing him himself. If he did enter such a contest, surely his loathing and hatred would be perceived – and he'd end up being seen and dealt with as yet another threat to Centre security. No, he'd bide his time. The old ghoul surely wouldn't be able to last all that much longer with lungs that didn't work without assistance. And who knew what kind of 'accident' might befall a man so completely dependant upon a volatile and explosive substance such as oxygen.

Raines watched as Lyle stalked from the room – throwing the white curtains aside as he left with suppressed rage – and then gestured to Willy. "Watch him closely," he ordered firmly. "Keep a man on him at all times – I don't want him to sneeze without one of your people hearing it. And make sure he finds Sydney and that Broots brat. We don't need the kind of trouble they could bring us."

oOoOo

"I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Jerry – Jerry Silva. I was born in…"

"I'm sure you could recite all the facts quite correctly," Sydney stated calmly, his expression compassionate, "but it doesn't change the fact that your name is REALLY Sam Alderman. You work for the Centre, yes… but you are Miss…"

"I've never heard the name Sam Alderman before you started trying to shove it down my throat," Sam retorted obstinately. "Look, buddy, I don't know what kind of little game you're playing here, but the people I work for…"

"Like Miss Parker?" Sydney asked sharply.

"Who?" Sam replied, his face turning wary. "Who did you say?"

"Miss Parker," Sydney repeated, "you're her personal sweeper, and have been for almost ten years now."

"I don't remember a Miss Parker," Sam insisted, this time with a little less certainty. "At least… I don't think…"

"Sydney…" Debbie came up behind the psychiatrist and tapped him on the forearm. "Show him this." She thrust a photograph into his hand.

Sydney gazed at the picture with a mixture of appreciation and sadness. Obviously Miss Parker's relationship with the motherless Broots girl had deepened since that first, frantic episode of babysitting. The picture was a small one, taken in one of those booths where one could get four shots for a small fee. In this frame, Miss Parker had her arm around Debbie's shoulders and was laughing in a way that he rarely was allowed to see her laugh. It did him good, in this dark hour, to see that she had actually begun to find that bright and sparkling self that he'd always known was hidden somewhere deep inside – and it only strengthened his resolve to return her to where she could enjoy that again freely. Sam was the key – he HAD to be made to remember.

Slowly he pushed the little photograph towards Sam. "This is Miss Parker, Sam," he said gently. "Are you SURE you don't remember her?"

"I don't want to see," Sam grumbled stubbornly, "and my name's not Sam, I told you."

"You need to look," Sydney insisted. "What are you afraid of – if you really don't remember her, then looking at her picture shouldn't hurt you a bit."

Sam's dark blue eyes came up rebelliously to catch and hold Sydney's golden chestnut gaze. "Call me by my real name," the sweeper dared the psychiatrist, "and maybe I'll take a look at your picture. Otherwise…" He looked away again. "…you can go suck eggs, for all I care."

Sydney and Debbie exchanged a glance, and then Sydney nodded. "Very well, Jerry. I won't call you that other name again – just look at the picture, will you? See if you remember the woman in it?"

Sam looked up again, startled. He really hadn't expected this… this foreigner to meet his terms. The old man had been SO insistent in calling him 'Sam' that he was sure that he wouldn't bend – but now… A glance over the old man's shoulder at the young girl told him how much that concession had cost the both of them – the expression on her face was one of devastation. "OK," he relented slowly, trying to shake off the feeling of knowing the girl from somewhere before, "show me the damned picture."

Sydney slid the photograph a little closer to the bound man. "Here you go. Take a good look."

Slowly the sweeper let his gaze drop down to the table top, and the photograph. In it, he saw a beautiful brunette, her smile wide and easy for the young girl. In the back of his mind, he suddenly heard a woman's voice say, "Do you mean to tell me that a little girl beat the pants off of you in checkers, Sam – and you expect me NOT to say anything about it?"

Sam looked up at the older man's face in sudden confusion. Again he heard in his mind the same woman's voice: "C'mon Sam, you're with me." He glanced over at the young girl, only to get another, much younger voice sounding in the back of his mind, "King me, Sam!"

Then, abruptly, his world pitched as if on a ship in the middle of a storm, making him dizzy and nauseated and disoriented and confused all at once. Voices began to come at him from all directions – some of them his own, some of them the voices of others.

"Your name is Jerry now," an oily voice told him in a malignant tone, "Jerry Silva."

"Miss Parker, I can't move my feet."

"We've lost him, Miss Parker."

"Your name is Jerry…"

"Thanks for the game, Squirt…"

"He's heading for the roof. Sam…"

"You don't need to worry about who that woman over there is – she's nothing to you."

"You need to decide who you work for – the Centre, or ME."

"I work for you, Miss Parker…"

"Your name is Jerry…"

"I work for you, Miss Parker…"

"You know I trust you, Sam – that's why I made you my personal sweeper…"

"Thanks, Miss Parker – you won't be sorry."

"I better not be – it would be bad for my reputation, which would make it deadly for you…"

"Sam, you're with me…"

Sam turned confused and wondering eyes to the older man sitting across the table from him, as if seeing him for the first time that evening. "Sydney?" he asked slowly, then up into the widening eyes of the girl behind him. "Debbie – Debbie Broots? You've grown…"

"Sam?" Sydney asked carefully. He'd seen the odd expression of confusion and listening that had come over the sweeper's face and how Sam had swallowed hard several times while apparently battling something going on in his head. When the blue eyes had opened again, there had been an expression of familiarity and recognition that had been woefully missing.

Sam looked down at himself and then back up. "Is there a reason you have me all trussed up like a turkey? Miss Parker will…" His face darkened. "At least, she would if she were here…"

"Cut him loose, Sydney, he remembers." Debbie handed Sydney a sharp knife from the drawer, and Sydney carefully began working on the duct tape. "It's about time you started being yourself again," she told the sweeper sharply. "I was starting to wonder if Jarod misread the information about the drug…"

"Sydney – they have Miss Parker!" Sam exclaimed in distress. "They're going to…"

"We know they have her," Sydney soothed, crouching down to begin to saw at the tape holding Sam's ankles. "We figure they've probably given her the same drug they gave you."

"That's what I heard," Sam nodded as Sydney looked up at him in surprise. "Mr. Raines kept me close – made me a part of his 'elite force' of sweepers loyal only to him." He looked as if he'd just eaten something bad. "That son of a bitch…"

"What are they going to do to Miss Parker?" Debbie asked him, drawing him back to his story.

"They're waiting until they can get a hold of Jarod – and then they're going to try to breed themselves another Super-Pretender – one with Jarod's genius and Miss Parker's other gifts. Once they have at least one, they'll take what they need from the parents and…"

"And then get rid of them," Sydney finished for him unhappily. "Raines is playing God again – this time with the originals." He took a deep breath and then looked up at the sweeper. "They have Jarod too now."

"Damn." Sam got to his feet unsteadily when he felt the last strap of duct tape give way. He looked about himself and then down at Sydney. "Where are we?"

"Jarod's safe house in Dover," Sydney replied, getting to his feet with a grunt. He'd been too active today – tomorrow morning, his muscles were going to be killing him. "We brought you here…"

"You have to get me back to the Centre!" Sam stretched and bent at the waist to try to regain mobility and flexibility, and then walked the circuit of the kitchen a couple of times to get the feeling back in his calves and feet. "I'm supposed to be enjoying a rest period – if I'm not there when they come for me…"

"Jarod wanted you to go back in – as 'Jerry'…" Sydney told Sam with a nod. "He was hoping that with you on the inside and with his other contact on the inside…"

"Other contact?" Sam's eyes glittered. "You mean, the one that's the reason we kept coming up a day late and a dollar short all this time?" Sydney nodded. "Who is it?"

"Angelo."

Sam put his right hand to his face. "Oh, for God's sake…"

"Angelo helped us get you out, and hopefully will find something on Broots so that we can do for him what we've done for you…"

"But you need me back in there – now more than ever – to get information straight from Mr. Raines that Angelo might not get access to." Sam nodded. "Jarod was right – that IS the best way."

"I'll drive you back to the edge of Centre property," Sydney reached for his coffee cup and drained the now-cold liquid. "Can you make it back to your barracks by yourself?"

"No problem," Sam grinned. "They already know I'm not happy – it would be logical that I would have gotten up and gone for a walk. If I'm caught outside, I'll just play my part and be 'Jerry' being pissed."

"You're going to have to really be careful," Sydney warned. "Raines and his other goons are going to be looking for the slightest sign that you've begun to remember – and they'll probably haul you right back down to Renewal and feed you that drug again."

"Don't worry," Sam reassured Sydney with cold determination. "I know how to be careful. This is Miss Parker's life we're talking about here."

"And my dad's," Debbie added. "Try to find him too, Sam, please? I want him back…"

Sam walked over to her and put a huge hand on her shoulder. "I'll do what I can for you, Squirt."

She nodded. "That's all I ask."

"We'd better go," Sydney urged, reaching for his coat again. "Debbie, lock up after me."

"I want to come too."

"Better you stay here, Squirt," Sam told her with another pat on the shoulder. "Sydney can get me to the Centre and drop me off – and he'll be back for you very soon." Sam raised his eyes to Sydney. "And I'd find yourself another safe house, a little further away, if I were you," he advised. "Lyle's got the assignment to look for you – and he's got Willy putting his team all over the place, including here in Dover. I know – I was there when they planned it."

Sydney looked at Debbie. "Pack your things," he told her. "We'll be moving in the morning, as soon as I've had enough sleep to keep from running the car off the road."

Debbie wasn't happy, but she could see the logic to the instructions. "Be safe, Sam," she said, giving the sweeper a hug at the waist that was returned with quick affection.

"See you," Sam told her and then looked up at the psychiatrist. "Let's go."

oOoOo

Mr. Raines was waiting for Dr. Gregorio Chavez just outside the swinging doors of the operating theatre. "Well?" he demanded with a gasp and a wheeze.

"Now we head for the lab," the Hispanic answered in his faint accent, "and use that sample you extracted from the male to fertilize these eggs. Once they've grown to a suitable size, we re-implant three of them – hopefully one will be carried to term."

"And when do we know if we have what we want?" was the next urgent question.

"Considering the drugs that the patient has been receiving, and the surety of the impregnation date, we should be able to do an early amniocentesis procedure in about eight weeks," the doctor replied. "You'll need to keep in mind, however, that doing the test that early means a higher risk of miscarriage as well as some potential birth defects."

"The benefits are worth the risk," Raines wheezed and nodded. "Keep me informed as to the progress – and when you're ready to do the implantation."

"You're sure the patient wanted this done?" Chavez asked next. "I didn't get a chance to do my normal pre-op interview with her…"

"This was her expressed wish," Raines assured the doctor quickly. "Now that we have custody of the sperm sample of her dead husband, she would want to have that child they always wanted."

"But she can't care for an infant in a coma…" Chavez complained.

"She has family that will gladly take care of the baby until she's able to handle it herself," Raines smiled coldly at the ob-gyn. "Don't you worry – the baby is much wanted and loved already."

Chavez nodded and headed down the hallway for the scrub room to change again. Dr. Abrams stood up from the seat he'd been in since called by Mr. Raines an hour earlier. "You know that we can't be sure of the effects of 837A on the fetus," he reminded his boss quietly, peering into the small window at last, "especially the effects of keeping the level of the drug in her system so high for such an extended period of time."

"I don't want her remembering," Raines spat, and then drew a noisy gasp of breath. "I don't want her remembering her mother, Jarod, the hunt, Mr. Parker, who she is, where she's from – in other words, I want her to find the only security she can have in staying right here in the Renewal Wing. If this fetus is damaged, we'll still have the donor for more sperm to try again after we've let the drug levels in her system drop." The gaunt face broke into a grimacing grin. "Now that we have them both, we have time."

The detachment in the bald man's voice made even Dr. Abrams shudder. "I'll want her closely monitored – especially after the embryos are implanted."

"Do what you need to," Raines said absently. "Just make sure that when your job is done, I have a healthy Super-Pretender – and the building blocks to clone more of them. We only need one, you know…"

Abrams nodded and forced any ethical concerns to the back of his mind. The Centre's entire draw for him had been the opportunity to be working on the cutting edge of medical technology – from drug therapy for psychotics to genetic engineering and reproductive technology. To be able to see his research through, he couldn't spare any consideration for either the young woman in the operating room or the sperm donor somewhere else deep in the Centre.

Only that way would he be able to sleep at night.

oOoOo

Sam didn't waste time glancing backwards toward where he knew the SUV had parked with its headlights extinguished, but pushed through the trees and onto the Centre lawn. His estimate of just where he'd wanted Sydney to drop him off had been on the money – the dark hulk of the on-site sweeper dorm loomed only twenty yards or so to his left. Sticking his hands in his trousers pocket, he began to amble back – not caring whether or not he was seen.

With any luck, Syd and the kid would be long gone by the time Lyle and his cronies would even begin to figure out where they'd been. It was going to be difficult to be this other person – 'Jerry' – when 'Sam' was more than sufficient; but only by being 'Jerry' and by swallowing his pride and his repulsion would he be able to be in the right place at the right time to get information on the whereabouts and condition of Broots, Miss Parker or even Jarod.

He took a deep breath and reached for the front doorknob of the dorm building and pulled it open. Inside, the halls were clear – and he breathed a quick sigh of relief. He really didn't want to have to explain himself this early in his pretence…

Ironic, he thought, that he'd spent the better part of his last decade chasing a man who was a Pretender, only to have it come down to the point where HIS Pretend would be the key to so many people's rescue, including that same Pretender. Very briefly he allowed himself to wonder just what Miss Parker's reaction would be when she found out the lengths to which her personal sweeper had gone to try to affect her rescue – and then he put the entire question out of his mind. He reached his room and quietly slipped back inside

He had the rest of the night – what little remained of it, that was – to manufacture a 'Jerry' façade and paste it on tightly. He would then have to Pretend as he had never pretended before in his life – put 'Sam' in the back of his head to be a mere observer while letting a more cold, calculating, conditioned 'Jerry' do the work that Raines required of him with no visible qualms, misgivings or hesitation.

And God only knew how long he'd have to be able to pull this off.


	8. Playing the Waiting Game

Chapter 8 – Playing the Waiting Game

(Six weeks later)

Sydney sighed and hefted his bag up onto the bed of the motel room and then sat down heavily next to it. Debbie was no doubt doing much the same in the connecting room adjacent to his. It was a pattern to which they were both reluctantly becoming all too accustomed – pulling into yet another small town in Delaware or Maryland and settling into a motel room until they could rent a small apartment or house. They'd stay there, a young woman and her grandfather in the eyes of everybody they met, until an email from Angelo would tip them off that Lyle had stumbled across their trail again – whereupon they'd pack in the course of an hour and be long gone by the next morning. They'd moved four times already, including this latest. It was getting very old.

Despite his effort to try to keep Debbie's spirits up, he could tell that the extended time away from her father and the knowledge of Miss Parker's and Jarod's detention were beginning to take a toll. He kept up her studies as best he could – much of the material was stuff he'd drilled into Jarod very early on, and thanks to his remarkable memory, he could still pull historical facts from the hidden corners of his brain with the same ease that he pulled the next hypothesis in geometry. And like Jarod before her, Debbie was turning into a very quick study – and he had good reason to doubt that it was because he was such a good teacher.

The two of them had become very close in the weeks since they'd been thrown so abruptly together. After Sam's rescue and return to the Centre, Debbie had started to come out of her shell a little – talking about her life with her father and, on very rare occasions, the difficulties of her life with her mother in the years before that. Sydney discovered that many of those early events Debbie had never shared with her father – never shared with anybody until she'd shared them with him – because she'd never felt comfortable talking about her mother in less than defensive tones. She'd also been open about her relationship with Miss Parker – how the two of them had settled their differences that first, difficult time and then how the relationship had deepened and strengthened between them over time. That she missed her surrogate mother desperately – almost as much as she missed her father – was very apparent.

Debbie wasn't just a tiger on the checkerboard – one of the first things Broots had taught his bright little girl after gaining custody of her was to play chess, and to play chess against a computer and win. Sydney quickly discovered that Debbie was a talented strategist in her own right – and almost his equal on the chessboard. A small chessboard had been purchased very soon into their trek together and was by now well-used.

In turn, Sydney had opened to Debbie in a way that he'd not allowed himself to open to anyone since Jacob's accident almost thirty years earlier. When the topic of the Holocaust came up in her history studies, he carefully offered her the benefit of first-hand knowledge – both of what went on in the death camps and of the aftermath of the war. But what she liked for him to do most was to speak of his life before the war – of his parents and his beloved grandmother, of his high jinks with his twin brother on the banks of the Seine. She could listen to his stories for hours and had quickly come to prefer sitting and exchanging stories with the old psychiatrist to watching TV.

What neither of them ever discussed, except when talking about the contents of one of Angelo's or Sam's cryptic emails, was the Centre and the people trapped there. At this point, they both knew that neither of them could do anything – and dwelling on the subject would do no good at all.

This latest move had come very soon after the previous – and Sydney was beginning to suspect that they would have to ditch the little coupe they were now driving very soon in favor of another, less expensive and less conspicuous vehicle. The mini SUV had been traded away weeks before for the coupe, registered under Sydney's real name. It had served them well – but had apparently served its purpose and now needed to go.

At a knock on the connecting door, Sydney sighed and heaved himself off the bed next to his bag. "Getting hungry?" he asked the young woman who walked through the door and plopped herself into the uncomfortable easy chair near the window and immediately slumped in the manner of disenchanted youth.

"Getting tired of this," she replied, playing with a long tendril that had escaped the braid that trailed down her back. "Are we always going to be running from now on?"

Sydney seated himself on the edge of the bed again. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "A lot depends upon whether we decide to give up and genuinely start a new life somewhere else – or whether we hang around more or less close to Blue Cove on the hope that one day we'll be called to help rescue your father or Jarod or Miss Parker."

"I miss school," she stated mournfully. "I miss my friends. I miss catching the bus on a Saturday with a whole bunch of us and going into Dover to hang around the malls."

"I'm sorry," the psychiatrist replied. "Right now, that would be an invitation to be taken into the Centre…"

"I know that," Debbie flounced up and over to the window to push aside the heavy draperies and peek out. "I understand why we're doing this – it's just that understanding doesn't mean I LIKE the way we have to live, or that I don't miss my real life." She leaned against the cool glass. "It's been a long time now, Sydney…"

The Belgian rose and came over to the girl at the window and put a comforting arm around her. "I know it has, cheri. I know it has." He put gentle hands on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Tell me what you'd have me do, Debbie… Do you want to quit this and establish ourselves elsewhere on a more permanent basis?"

"Leave Dad and Miss Parker and Jarod in the Centre?" Blue eyes looked away. "No, I don't think I could live with myself…" She leaned forward and landed her forehead on his chest, and then sighed as he closed his arms around her. "I'm just tired of running."

Sydney bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head and held her a little tighter. "I know, cheri. I'm tired of running too. Every day I wake up thinking that we can't go on like this – that something will come from Sam or Angelo, and we'll be called back to help out getting someone out." He swayed a little with her in his arms as if he was rocking her. "We just have to be patient, Debbie. Something's got to give sooner or later – and when it does…"

oOoOo

Sam rolled the cart up to the incinerator and began handing packets of documents to his partner to thrust into the glowing flames. For all the promise of being a part of an 'elite unit', his duties had become annoyingly monotonous. Each of the unit took turns being paired with Willy when Mr. Raines decided to go somewhere – from the grocery store or restaurant on the outside or to the Renewal Wing or deeper levels within the Centre itself. The old man was never without two of his 'elite' – and Sam suspected that it was this show of force that was keeping the old man in his position more than his innovative way of running things. But in the meanwhile, if there was a shit-duty roster, everybody in the entire 'elite unit' had their name on it more often than not – everybody, of course, with the exception of Willy. The position of 'personal sweeper' always had had its perks – one of them being NOT on any shit-duty list, ever. Sam missed those days.

Lyle had been relegated to Miss Parker's old position of being the nominal head of a team hunting for fugitives – in this case, Sydney and Deborah Broots. Sam knew of several occasions that he'd inwardly held his breath when word would leak through to the general sweeper population about a sighting of an old man and a young, blonde girl. As yet, each of those sightings had officially either been cases of mistaken identity or the report had arrived at the Centre too late. He himself had sent a couple of carefully worded warnings under a fraudulent email user name that Sydney was bound to recognize – having been handed Jarod's email address by a skittish Angelo in passing one day. Evidently the warnings had worked, for Sydney and Debbie were still eluding discovery.

But now, as he stood patiently handing packet after packet of documents Raines had decided were either useless or too dangerous to keep, Sam was having trouble holding still. In bringing the cart down to the incinerator, he'd seen something he probably wasn't supposed to see – and for the first time since he started this charade, he was feeling hopeful. Broots was alive – and well – and now HE knew where the missing tech was.

It was a passing encounter. Sam – or 'Jerry' – had arrived as ordered to pick up the cartload of stuff to be incinerated and just glanced into one of the open doorways as he pushed the cart back down the hall toward the elevator. His eyes had been drawn by the sound of raised voices – and he'd peeked in to see Broots being chewed out by another nameless computer geek-type, being called 'Frank'.

There was a computer terminal in the sweeper's break room – when he was done with his shift, and provided there was nobody else there to observe what he was up to, he'd search out 'Frank' in the Computer Technology Department and send word to Sydney. Then he'd have to scare up Angelo somehow – Angelo knew the way in and the way out again, and would probably have the drug that had been used on him during his own rescue. The thought of Broots having the same nausea and disorientation that he'd had made him grimace inwardly – but it couldn't be helped.

Broots would have to do the same thing he had – have his memory restored and then return to his duties as this 'Frank'. But with Broots' intelligence and creative way with the Centre computers, and with his personal access to the upper echelons on a somewhat regular basis, Sam was certain that they would soon have a line on Miss Parker or Jarod.

He just had to be patient a little while longer.

He reached into the cart and pulled out the next plastic-wrapped bundle and handed it over. He hated this job. When or if he ever got Miss Parker out of here, he'd never come back to this god-awful place again. He'd sit in a security guard's kiosk in front of swanky homes bored out of his skull before he'd ever work for the Centre again.

Just a few more bundles…

oOoOo

The tall, brunette woman carefully slid her feet over the edge of the bed into the waiting slippers and stood up, grabbing her robe and pulling it over the hospital gown that was just too revealing in the back to be tolerated anywhere but in bed. Dr. Abrams had advised her to take walks – that it would be better as her pregnancy progressed if she got herself back into some form of shape physically. Walking the corridor outside her room was one way of doing that – and the only one that had been allowed her as yet.

He called her 'Parker' – and told her she'd been in a coma after an accident that had claimed the life of her husband. She'd been lucky, however, not to have lost the baby she was carrying – and all of her therapy now would be centered around making sure her recovery continued to be healthy both for her and her baby. Hands with long and graceful fingers spread across her middle – she still wasn't showing yet, and yet she longed for the day that her condition became real to her. She'd been longing for this child for years – at least, that's what she'd been told. No matter, she was excited and pleased at her condition now.

There had been a psychiatrist to visit her a few times – a gaunt and unhealthy man by the name of Raines – when it was discovered that she had amnesia. And despite his leading her through hypnosis and other psychiatric therapies, she hadn't been able to regain either her personal history or any memory of her husband's face or name. Something with J was the thought that lingered at the fringes of her consciousness, but because it was so nebulous, she'd never mentioned it either to the shrink or to Dr. Abrams. Lost, she'd been content within her white-curtained refuge – although she would have liked there to be windows. She missed the feel of the breeze against her face – although she couldn't remember where or why she would have experienced that before.

She could remember, though, the first time she'd awakened – at least she THOUGHT she remembered the first time she awakened – to the sound of another man's voice. He'd stood over her bed with glowing blue eyes and said words that even now rang in her fractured memory: "My name is Lyle – and I'll be taking care of you for a while." She hadn't seen him since that short visit weeks earlier, before she'd slipped back into the coma – and although she'd asked about him to the nurses and Dr. Abrams, nobody seemed to remember who he was or why he would have said such a thing to her.

She still wasn't too steady on her feet, and she tended to lean into the wall of the corridor to her right – staying carefully out of the way of the bustling medical personnel. There were double doors at the end of the corridor she'd been advised to keep behind – that there were dangerous mental patients housed beyond that she didn't want to run into by herself. Fran, her evening nurse, had confirmed that the area beyond those doors would be dangerous for her – and Fran was so nice and sympathetic and compassionate that Parker couldn't imagine her telling her something that wasn't in her best interest.

Still, the walking tired her. She'd been bedridden, she'd been told, for over six weeks now – more than enough time for some of her muscle tone to atrophy. Already, halfway down the corridor, she was beginning to wilt.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed and this far away from your room?" a voice sounded next to her, and a very handsome black man took gentle hold of her elbow. "You're looking tired, Parker," he continued.

"I walked further than I thought I did," she replied apologetically, leaning into his strong arm gratefully.

"Let me help you back to your room then," Willy told her and then walked her slowly back down the corridor and into her room. "You'd better check with Dr. Abrams about this weakness you have."

Storm-grey eyes gazed up into his finely sculpted face with innocent curiosity. "Are you one of the doctors here?"

"No, ma'am," Willy replied with a smile, amazed at the thoroughness of the drug's mind-altering effects. The Miss Parker he knew would never have let him touch her, much less let him escort her down a hall and into a bedroom. "I work for the people that run this place, though."

"Well, whoever you are, thank you," she offered graciously. "At least tell me your name…"

"Will… Will, ma'am," Willy shortened his name, just in case the sound of the normal diminutive would trigger her memory to return.

"Thanks, Will," she repeated and moved slowly and carefully to the easy chair that sat near her bed.

"You take it easy, Parker," Willy nodded and left her sitting in her chair and reaching for the mystery novel that she'd been reading at for the past few days. He'd have to report on this to Mr. Raines – it should help the old man's day be a little brighter to know that Formula 837A had been an unmitigated success in her case…

oOoOo

Angelo moved carefully through the ducts until he'd arrived at the sweeper's break room and then settled down against the metal wall of the vent to wait. Sam would be here soon, and he needed to talk to him about Daughter's Friend Broots. He'd felt the recognition that had flooded the sweeper from three levels down – and the time was approaching for things to once again begin to happen.

He'd found Daughter himself weeks ago – and then wept when he realized what all had been done to her. She was lost, with the only thing that was genuinely hers still in her possession being the name by which everyone had called her. He'd found Friend too – and been angered by the way that they had stolen what had made him unique and different. Listening to Friend's thoughts was like listening to a static hiss. They'd taken away his soul and turned him into a robot, and then put him to work in the kitchens peeling potatoes and slicing carrots for the cafeteria fare. They hadn't even given him a name – told the others around him to call him 'Boy' and not talk to him directly except to give him orders.

It was time for things to happen – before the danger that loomed on the horizon got any closer. Sydney and the girl needed to be told to come back – to move into Jarod's old safe house in Dover that had never truly been discovered. They'd be safe there for as long as they needed to be… They needed to know this…

The door to the break room opened, and Sam and another sweeper stepped inside. Sam was excited, the little empath could tell easily. His movements were less considered, more abrupt and sudden. Still, he had to play his part – and he joked and talked to the other sweeper for a long time before the other finally left to go back to his duties.

"Sam…"

Sam fought hard to keep from startling at the sound of the soft whisper and calling the attention of the surveillance team to his actions. Eventually he looked around the room, apparently bored, until he could make out the shadow of Angelo against the ventilation grate. The whisper that had caught his ear would probably not have been heard by the surveillance camera above – but he'd have to be careful in making his way to close to the vent to hear what the little man had to say.

He wandered about the room, getting himself a cup of coffee and fiddling with some of the girlie magazines in such ready supply before selecting one and moving to the couch directly below the grate.

"Broots work late most nights," he whispered down to the dark-haired sweeper, who he knew was listening carefully. "Always in same place – where you saw him. Keep him apart from most others, so easy to get to him. Be ready tomorrow night – meet Sydney at ventilation shack nine o'clock. Angelo be there too – we get Broots out, help him remember."

The dark head below him nodded slowly, and then Sam moved the magazine as if he were checking out one of the centerfolds it held. "Nine o'clock tomorrow," he heard whispered back through the rustling of the magazine. "Gotcha."

As Angelo made his way back through the ducts, he knew that Sam would be going to the computer terminal and seeing what he could find. He wouldn't find much – only a name he already knew – but it was a beginning.

The time of waiting was almost ended.

oOoOo

As was his habit before going to bed, Sydney set up Jarod's laptop and hooked the telephone line into the modem. The computer had an interesting feature that made telephone calls out on normally monitored lines without attracting attention to the call at all – which made things easier and a whole lot more secure. All he had to do, he'd discovered, was to start the Centre-designed email client, and the additional programming that Jarod had added would log the system into the mainframe and pull secure email that The Powers That Be would never know existed under their noses.

"Debbie!" he exclaimed, reading the list of unread mail, "there's something here from Angelo!"

He could hear the sound of Debbie scrambling out of the bed she'd just crawled into, and she trotted into his room without even bothering to stop and pull on her robe over her flannel pajamas. "What does it say?" she demanded. "Haven't you opened it yet?"

"I was waiting for you, cheri," he replied and then clicked on the message and began to read aloud: "'Broots found – meet Sam at the shack nine o'clock tomorrow night."

"They found my dad?" Debbie seemed stunned and almost incapable of believing the good news.

"We still need to go into the Centre and bring him out," Sydney cautioned. "We'll play it just like last time – with you waiting with the car, ready to head to the police department if I'm not back with your dad by sunrise…"

Debbie shook her head. "Not this time, Sydney. I need to go in with you."

"Absolutely not!" Sydney shook his head vehemently, and his accent grew thicker. "I'm sure that if your father were here, he'd forbid…"

"Remember how things went with Sam?" Debbie frowned at him. "How much do you want to bet that the reason the Centre's been after me all this while is because the chances are pretty good that seeing my face might be one of the things that makes him remember. Maybe seeing Miss Parker would do it too – but they've got her and probably know how to keep her away from him. So seeing me would be Dad's best shot…"

"That still isn't a good reason to bring you along!" Sydney was still shaking his head. "Your father can see you in the car AFTER we get him out…"

"Dad has to go back into the Center and stay in his role, like Sam did, doesn't he?" the girl pointed out. "I remember what a hurry it was for you to get Sam back to where he belonged in time after he remembered. If I were closer, so I could see my dad right away…"

"Debbie, you can't come into the Centre and help your dad remember that way," Sydney tried once more to reason with her. "There are cameras everywhere – and we need to work with your dad where we won't be seen."

"But if he leaves the Centre, he'll be missed – and then when they find him again, they'll dope him back up and he'll forget!" Debbie was adamant. "You need me – I'm coming."

"I tell you what," Sydney sighed, pushed into a compromise he hadn't wanted to have to make. "You can come with me to the shack – but if Sam says that it's too dangerous for you, then you stay IN the shack until we get back out again. Fair?"

Debbie's blue eyes glittered. Sam was a marshmallow – he'd let her come along, she was sure of it. "Fair."

"Now back to bed with you," Sydney told her with a jerk of his nose over his shoulder toward the door to her room. "If you're going along, I want you well rested."

Debbie's smile was brilliant, and she dropped a kiss on the older man's cheek impulsively. "You won't be sorry, Sydney," she beamed. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sydney began typing a reply to Angelo – hoping that the empath could warn Sam of the change in plans. Even though he understood Debbie's drive to be a part of her father's rescues – especially since that rescue would be followed in very short order by her father going as deeply under cover inside the Centre as Sam had. Still, he felt obligated to try to defend Broots' daughter against all the danger the Centre represented, and against herself when she started to get too daring for her own good.

Hopefully Sam would know what to say to convince her that staying behind was in everybody's best interests.

oOoOo

"Absolutely not!"

"But Sam…"

Sam was adamant, and glowered at the girl. "You haven't got the slightest idea what you'd be getting yourself into, Debbie. I know you want to help, but this isn't the way…"

Angelo pulled Sydney aside. "Can't go," the empath stated emphatically, staring at the young woman who was still arguing with Sam. "If she goes, we all get caught."

"Debbie," Sydney's voice cut through the argument on the other side of the room. "Angelo says that if you go, we all will be caught. I happen to think he's probably right – and not just because he tends to be uncannily accurate with such things."

"But…"

"What's more important to you, being a part of this, or getting your father out in one piece in the end?" Sam demanded finally.

Debbie knew she was outvoted – and she really didn't want to endanger the others. "I just want to see my dad," she stated sadly. "I miss him so…"

"We know you do, cheri," Sydney soothed. "And you'll see him tonight – for a little while." He looked at Sam. "We can do our memory-tinkering here in this shack, can't we?"

Sam looked at Angelo and then shrugged. "I suppose…"

Sydney nodded in satisfaction and then looked at the girl. "So – slight change in plans. You wait HERE for us – same conditions apply. If it's getting too close to five in the morning and we aren't out yet, head back to the car and go to the police."

"Besides," Sam crouched down so that he was more at her eye level – even a little lower, now that she'd grown so much, "we already make an awful lot of racket going through those vents. One more person might be the straw that breaks the camel's back – and calls attention to what we're doing. It isn't that we don't trust you, Squirt," the sweeper added at the skeptical disbelief that was flooding her face, "it's that we need this to work – and the stakes are just too high to take unnecessary chances."

"I hate being left behind," Debbie glowered. "He's my father…"

"I know, Deb, I know." Sam straightened and reached down to pat her shoulder gently. "Sometimes it sucks being a kid. But trust me – the less you know about this place, and the less time you spend in it for any reason, the better! I know for a fact that your dad believes that just as much as I do."

Even Angelo moved closer and touched the girl's hand to catch her attention. "You wait here – we bring him to you. Promise."

"OK, OK, I stay here!" Debbie was frustrated and angry at being kept out of the loop, but wasn't about to jeopardize her position now – which was better than it had been the last time around. She gazed up into Sydney's face with something bordering on frantic worry. "You just be careful! I don't want to have to go to the police…"

Sydney slipped an arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. "I'll be all right, and I'll be back with your father as soon as I can."

"I don't want to be left alone," she told him with quiet vehemence. "Don't leave me alone."

"Only for a little while. I won't be long," he promised and kissed the top of her head. He could tell Sam and Angelo were anxious to get moving, so he kissed her cheek and pushed her away. "Be very quiet and don't leave the shack until either I get back or it's five in the morning – remember?"

"I remember." Debbie backed away and wrapped her arms around herself after taking possession of Sydney's flashlight, and then she watched her latest guardian fold his body so that he could begin to crawl through the ventilation ducts.

"Close the grate after us, Squirt," Sam called as he ducked to fit his hulk into the narrow metal tunnel yet again.

Debbie waited until Sam's feet were out of the way before moving to snap the grating closed. With that, she moved to the corner of the shack closest to the grate and sank to the floor. She turned off the flashlight to preserve the battery life and closed her eyes. The alarm on Jarod's watch was once more set to five o'clock, and it would wake her if the sounds of Sam and Sydney returning with her father hadn't done so already.

But she doubted she'd get much sleep.

oOoOo

Broots turned to the next document and began typing it into the computer. He was bored – all of these documents had to do with the sale of some formula to some Arabs in Saudi Arabia – and he wished that he could experiment a little with the computer itself. He was fascinated by the idea that he could type the entire hardcopy document into the terminal, and then use a hand-scanner to scan in the handwritten signature at the bottom of the letter and… voilá… he'd have a near-perfect digital copy of the document to store in the mainframe. Then he'd type his initials into the information data fields that each and every document stored kept regarding who did the entry, when, and at which terminal, save the thing and go on to the next one.

There was an easier way to do this, he was certain – and if his superiors would just give him the time and the permission, he was certain that he could discover it in no time. If they could scan in a signature, surely they could scan in the whole document… But no… his superiors were quite firm about wanting things done just THIS way. This was what he'd been hired to do, he was reminded time and time again – and if he wanted to continue with his job, this was what he'd have to keep on doing. And he had night duty because that was when the higher security documents were to be entered – so that was why he worked when everybody else was resting an vice versa. That part sucked, as far as he was concerned.

But Broots had used his fast typing skills to give himself the time to tinker and investigate quietly on his own anyway – it paid to be a very fast typist with a relatively low work load expectation. He'd quickly found the hidden games that were just few keystrokes away and enjoyed relaxing between boring documents, shooting at the blocks on the screen and seeing just how high a score he could get. Already he had his FNB initials on the top ten scoreboard… There – he'd just added fireball capabilities…

He never heard the trio of men come up behind him – he only knew he had company when his arms were suddenly seized from behind and a handkerchief with some truly foul smelling substance was thrust into his face. Suddenly the world got very blurry and then went black…

Sam slipped the rag with the chloroform back into the plastic bag it had come out of and sealed it again before any of the fumes started to influence any of the rest of them. "This is going to be fun," he remarked in a sarcastic whisper as he picked up the dead weight of the computer tech and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The trip back through the ducts went considerably slower with an unconscious man being pulled and pushed through the metal tunnel between Sam in front and Sydney in back. When they came to the vertical shaft, Sam moved carefully onto the ladder and then had Sydney help him get Broots once more into a fireman's carry that would be more secure for the both of them. Sam was in good physical condition, but carrying a dead weight of over a hundred and fifty pounds up a vertical ladder for ten floors was more than he was used to – and by the time he felt Angelo reaching down to help slip Broots into the lateral duct at the top of the shaft, he was fairly winded.

Once more, Broots was pulled and pushed through the ducts until Angelo's feet hit the grating in the shack hard enough that they flew open with a bang – waking Debbie up with a shriek. Her flashlight beam careened about the interior of the windowless shack madly for a moment, and then settled on Angelo pulling her father's head and shoulders through the grating and easing him to the floor with a minimum of bruising.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, and then stood back so that Sydney and Sam could get through the grate and straighten up – each with an appreciative groan and hand to the lower back.

"I'm getting too old for this," Sydney grumbled to Sam, who nodded.

"Trust me – this ain't my idea of a picnic either," the sweeper replied sotto voce and then looked down at the sleeping man they'd just worked so hard to bring to this place. "He's all yours, doc – do your stuff."

Sydney reached into his shirt breast pocket and fumbled a bit for the small ampoule he'd secreted there before coming to the Centre again. Once he found it, he crouched down next to Broots and snapped it in two beneath the man's nose. Almost immediately, Broots began to cough and wheeze and wave his hand around wildly, and finally looked up at Sydney with eyes streaming with tears. "Who are you and why'd you have to do that?"

"Daddy…" Sam moved aside and pulled Angelo away so that Debbie could make her way to her father's side. "Daddy…"

Broots stared at the girl in confusion for a moment, and then voices began ricocheting in his mind as his entire world seemed to tip and spin…

"It's a girl!"

"Hi, Daddy…"

"The court grants custody to Linda Broots…"

"Daddy, don't make me go back! I wanna stay with you!"

"How dare you!"

"The court grants custody to Lazlo Broots…"

"I love you, Daddy…"

"Do it, Broots – do it for yourself. Do it for Debbie."

"Your name is Frank Nathan Brodrick…"

"I love you Daddy…"

"Hello, Mr. Broots…"

"Jarod!"

"Broots! You lovable moron…"

"Your name is Frank…"

"Daddy, I love you…"

Slowly his eyes cleared, and he reached out a shaking hand. "D…d…debbie? What are YOU doing here?"

With a soft cry of happiness, Debbie flew into her father's arms and snuggled tightly against him. "I thought I might never see you again," she whimpered, her face buried in his neck.

"Debbie." Broots wrapped his arms around his little girl and felt his world suddenly right itself again. This was what had been missing – a whole lifetime that had been taken away from him – and all of it wrapped up in a slender body that was clinging to him now as if afraid to be torn away again. "It's OK, I'm here, Sweet Pea, I'm here," he soothed softly. "I love you."


	9. Getting It Together

Chapter 9 – Getting It Together

Broots opened his eyes again and looked around him at the rag-tag group of rescuers, finally focusing on one particular person. "Syd? You came in there and got me out?"

"Not alone - Sam and Angelo were very important parts of the team," Sydney smiled at him. "We had to talk Debbie into staying out here, or she would have been in there with us too."

Broots looked around him at the interior of the shack. "Where IS here?" He stared at Sam. "And I thought you were missing!"

"I was, for a while," Sam explained quickly with a sheepish look on his face. "As for where we are, we're in a shack on the Centre grounds, and that…" He pointed at the metal monster in the middle of the room. "…is the entrance to the air conditioning system. We had to bring your memory back here, because we're going to need you to go back in AS 'Frank' and continue…"

Broots tried to scramble to his feet and needed both Sam and Sydney to help him regain his balance. "What are you guys – nuts?! I'm not going back in there…"

"They've got Parker," Sydney stated quietly and vehemently, "and Jarod."

"Both lost," Angelo said in an incredibly sad voice. "Both have forgotten everything."

"The drug that they gave you to make you forget, they gave to me first – and then probably to Miss Parker and Jarod," Sam told him bluntly. "We need you and your expertise at computers to help us find them so we can bring them out the way we got you out – and then help them remember too. THEN we can leave this damned place."

Broots blinked as the memories of the past few days began to augment his long-term memories properly. "I remember…" he said, raising a finger and moving closer. "I remember seeing a document about an amnesia formula…"

"Formula 837A," Sydney said flatly. "That's what they call it."

"Yeah, that's the one," Broots nodded. "There's a sale pending with some Arab types in Saudi Arabia, I think – something about a group called Al Qaeda…" Suddenly that name made a whole lot more sense than it had a few days ago, and it turned his stomach. "Jeez…"

"Oh my God!" Sydney cringed. "Have they NO decency?"

Sam put a firm hand on Broots' shoulder. "We have to stop this," he said with fervent determination, "and we have to get Miss Parker and even Jarod out of there before they get hurt any worse than they already are."

Broots eyed his daughter in his arms with distress. "What about Debbie?" he asked in a small voice.

"She's been staying with me," Sydney told him gently. "As long as Sam and Angelo keep warning us when Lyle and his goons get too close, we'll be fine."

"Daddy, no…" Debbie clung tighter. She knew his help was needed to get Miss Parker free, but the mere thought of losing him again was like a knife to the heart.

"I have to, Sweet Pea," Broots told his girl, loosening his hold on her and putting a finger beneath her chin so that she could look up at him. "I'm sure it won't be for long – and as long as I know that Sydney's keeping you safe, I can do this." He embraced her again and kissed her several times on the cheek and forehead. "You have to strong for me, Debbie – I won't be able to do this if I don't know you're OK with this."

Debbie backed up into Sydney, who put his arms around her protectively. "I love you, Daddy," she whimpered. "Be careful."

"Take good care of her, Syd – she's all I've got," Broots told his friend in an intense and wavering voice.

"You have my word, Broots," Sydney swore solemnly. "I'll guard her as if she were my own."

"Take her home, doc," Sam directed. "Angelo and I will get him back to his cubbyhole before he can be missed. We'll send word when we know how to get either Jarod or Miss P out."

Sydney nodded, and Broots took one last, long look at his daughter. "Bye, Sweet Pea," he told her sadly before following Angelo headfirst back through the grate. Debbie turned in Sydney's arms and began to cry as Sam folded himself once more for the return trip, pulling the grate closed behind him.

"C'mon, cheri," Sydney told her gently. "It's time for us to go now."

"That wasn't much time at all!" she complained bitterly as she watched him close the shack door and hang the lock back in the loop so that it looked engaged again.

"At least it was a moment," the psychiatrist reminded her pointedly. "Now we wait again – and probably not for as long this time."

oOoOo

Broots waved at his comrades and watched them clamber back into the air conditioning duct before walking a little unsteadily back to his chair at his computer terminal and sitting down once more. A push of a key brought back up the game screen he'd been in when he'd been interrupted – and he quickly exited the game and keystroked himself back to the data entry screen where the bulk of his work was done. He brought the next document over to his side where it was easy to read and began typing for all he was worth. A glance at the clock as he'd walked across the room told him he had another hour until his shift was up – and he had just enough time to get the four other documents keyed in that would allay any suspicions that he'd been slacking any more than usual.

He'd have to be careful from now on, he schooled himself. His name was Frank – and he'd have to remember to respond automatically to that name, just as before. He'd have to remember that Frank had been conditioned to be meek, mild, easily intimidated and utterly subservient. Not that these traits were far from unfamiliar, but having been a part of an elite search team had given Broots a little more moxie over time – moxie he'd have to swallow back until it was safe again.

He'd also have to forget the mindless computer games that had kept him from being completely bored – he had bigger fish to fry in the computer systems now, such as finding out where they were holding Jarod and Miss Parker. Considering that Lyle had been a big part of the group that had conditioned him as 'Frank', his skin crawled when he thought about just what might have happened to his bristly former boss. What kind of nightmare had they created in her that Angelo would say that she was 'lost' – that both she and Jarod were 'lost – forgotten everything'? What were they forcing her – them – to do?

His fingers flew over the keyboard, copying the document before him word for word and only barely registering what was being said. Amazingly, it was a letter from another leader in Al Qaeda, confirming the terms of the sale of Formula 837A and suggesting arrangements for delivery in the next three weeks. Broots' fingers slowed – someone HAD to be told that this was happening! He hated to think what a dangerous terrorist organization would be able to accomplish with a drug that could create mindless, obedient cannon fodder so easily. He could remember how simple it had felt to have all his principles simply locked away and new ones put in their place – how much easier it would be to simply program these people to strap on explosives and walk into buildings…

Broots' eyes closed very briefly, and then they opened again and his fingers flew with as much speed and accuracy as he could manage. He took note of the document number at the top of the screen, repeating it enough times that he'd committed it to memory. There would be a day when remembering that number and giving it to the proper person would hopefully sabotage the horrific potential of the sale. He ran the hand scanner across the signature, praying that the person who had wielded the pen find themselves quickly behind bars for the rest of their life.

Amazingly, the FNB and other details at the end of the document were almost automatic – and Broots moved to the next document. Only three more to go…

oOoOo

"Just hold still," Dr. Chavez advised his patient, glad that a surgery drape hid the size of the needle he was holding from the woman he was preparing to skewer with it. Before him, through the cut-away square in a green drape, creamy skin lay taut over what he knew was a growing womb. With one eye trained on the needle and the other eye on the ultrasound monitor, he pressed the needle home millimeter by millimeter.

He still was convinced that it was too early in the pregnancy to be able to do this test safely, and he worried that the needle would seriously damage the fetus – but Mr. Raines had been insistent that the test be run almost the moment Parker had officially entered the tenth week of her pregnancy. A week had been discarded from implantation date, since the embryo that had been implanted had been a week old to begin with. But all it had taken was a word in the ear of his patient claiming possible fetal damage due to the accident that had put her in a coma, and Parker had been as anxious for the test as Raines himself.

There! The monitor indicated that he was in the optimal place to pull a few milliliters of amniotic fluid for analysis, and he carefully held the syringe still and let the machine behind him manage the plunger extraction. They could only take a tiny amount of the fluid, lest it harm the baby or trigger a miscarriage.

The syringe slowly filled at the bottom until he had the amount he wanted – and then he lifted his foot from the pedal that had triggered the plunger mechanism and slowly withdrew the syringe from Parker's body. He heaved a heavy sign of relief, and then turned to label the syringe after removing the sharp needle. With the fluid now in the hands of the waiting lab technician, he moved around the drape so that he could look down into the pale face of the woman on the operating table.

"There, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She slowly unclenched her eyes and looked up at him trustingly. "Are you sure the baby's all right?"

"I'm sure the baby's fine, Parker," he reassured her with a pat to the green-draped shoulder. "This will just make sure of it so that we all know for certain."

"I just don't want anything to happen to this baby," she explained, her eyes filling with tears. "It's all I have left of my husband…"

"Here," Chavez moved the shielding drape aside and then the drape that had exposed only a small portion of her abdomen. "Let's just check and see how things are going." He squirted a small amount of gelatinous fluid on her lower stomach and then ran a wide device over the area – stopping when a soft, rhythmical whooshing sound began to be heard. "That's your baby's heartbeat," he told the woman, whose face immediately gained that familiar, rapt expression that was every mother's the first time she heard her baby's heart. "See? Nice and strong."

Parker began to smile. For the first time since waking up and finding out her fate, this miracle of life within her was beginning to become real to her. "Thank you, doctor," she whispered to the handsome Hispanic, whose eyes were the only thing she could recognize with his surgical mask in the way.

"My pleasure," Chavez responded and patted her shoulder again before gesturing to the operating room nurse to take her back to her room.

He hoped that now they would leave this poor woman alone to have her baby in peace – hopefully in some more pleasant surroundings than just white curtains that hid cinderblock walls. She was far too sweet – she deserved better than she was getting.

And Chavez knew better than to let anybody else know these mutinous thoughts.

oOoOo

Mr. Raines stood at the doorway to the kitchen, watching as Jarod placidly sat at his post peeling potatoes for the evening meal. There was a blank look on the Pretender's face that Raines' had never thought he'd see, and he shifted from one foot to the other and drew heavily on his oxygen tank.

What a waste, he thought to himself – all that intellect, and we don't dare try to make use of it more effectively before we have to put him down…

Slowly a smile came across his face. There was a psychiatrist in the Biogenics Department – a man who had trained under Sydney for years with Jarod originally – who would probably jump at the chance to work with Jarod on his own in Sydney's absence. The emphysemic old man chuckled to himself like a madman, thinking of what Lyle would say if he heard what was being contemplated for the wily Pretender after all. It was the prerogative of a leader to change his mind once he saw the logic of it, wasn't it?

For that matter, there was no reason not to start with a very general kind of training for Miss Parker as well – to see whether those old reports of her Pretender-like capabilities could be honed into usefulness. Again Raines chuckled, and then coughed as the respiratory activity outpaced his body's ability to oxygenate itself. Wouldn't it torque Lyle something awful to find out that Jarod and Miss Parker had been set Pretender tasks after all, despite having had his idea shot down so forcefully when he'd put it forth?

It would probably be better for him to discover this later – by then the fact that the parents had been put back to work running at least the left-over SIMs to help make ends meet while the Centre awaited the new Super Pretender to mature would be a no-brainer. By then hopefully knowing that the original idea had been his would only cause a slight burn of resentment. But how he reacted when he found out would tell a great deal about Lyle's fitness to run the Centre eventually – whether he'd finally been able to put the Centre's good ahead of his own personal gain or not.

Raines liked this idea – Lyle's idea, admittedly – but, he still liked it a lot. It would mean many less observational visits like this one, filled with regrets and frustration – not to mention the entertainment value that watching Lyle's reaction eventually would have. He signaled to Willy. "I want you to go talk to the cook when we're done here – let Jarod finish his shift in the kitchen today, but have his sleeping space transferred back down to SL-5. Let's see whether or not we can resurrect a Pretender from a dishwasher."

"Yes, sir," Willy said smartly.

"And tell Dr. Chambers that I want to see him in my office immediately. I have a task that should interest him greatly."

Willy peered through the window and then back down at his boss with a smile blooming across his dark face. "You're going to see if you can get Jarod doing his old job again."

"AND see if we can't give him a colleague doing the same thing," Raines replied, gesturing for Willy to take hold of the oxygen tank and follow him. "It's time to see whether the reports of Miss Parker's abilities were exaggerated or no." He smiled coldly. "I'm sure if the proposition were put to her properly, she'd jump at the chance to be doing something a little more creative than just sitting in her room reading mystery novels."

"Mr. Lyle is going to be very upset if you start this kind of project without including him in."

"That's why we're going to make sure that he doesn't hear about it until AFTER he has Sydney and Debbie in custody," Raines wheezed, disgusted with himself that he couldn't walk and talk at the same time without sounding like he was on death's door. "As far as I'm concerned, he can earn the right to administer the work of one or the other – not both – and the way he earns that right is to bring Sydney and Debbie Broots in alive."

"That sounds reasonable," Willy agreed. He pushed the button for the elevator and moved into his customary place behind Raines and slightly to the right of him. For the first time in a long time, he had a feeling that the Centre was on the verge of getting back on track after years of drifting thanks to a runaway Pretender and a do-nothing search team.

oOoOo

Jarod looked around him in appreciation. After weeks of having the only things he would see be his quarters, the corridor to the kitchen, and the kitchen itself, it was almost a relief to be someplace new – although there was the vaguest hint of familiarity. "Good morning," came the brisk voice of the man he'd been introduced to the previous evening as Byron, his new trainer. "Are you ready to do something different?"

"Y…yes sir," Jarod replied, eager with anticipation.

"That's good to hear." Byron moved to the table at which Jarod had been seated by the sweeper who had brought him into the Sim Lab and set down a series of building blocks in front of the Pretender. Quickly he arranged a few of those blocks into the beginnings of an equation. "The first thing I want you to do is to solve this equation for me, using the rest of the blocks. Take all the time you need."

Jarod studied the blocks intently and then began moving them around quickly so that the letters and numbers and symbols began to speak coherently to him. This was far more interesting than peeling potatoes…

"Very good," Byron patted the dark-haired man on the shoulder. "Nicely done."

Jarod peered up into his mentor's face with a hint of confusion. Somewhere in the back of his mind was echoing another voice telling him, "Verrrry good," but it wasn't Byron's voice. This other voice had a funny accent to it – and the more he tried to remember, the further into the background the voice faded.

"Boy!" Byron called for a second time, only then catching the Pretender's attention. "Solve this one now."

Once more, Jarod turned to the task set forth with the building blocks, to make the statement that had been started say something meaningful.

Byron Chambers nodded in satisfaction. From what he could see, Jarod didn't remember anything – and would be like a blank slate free of the impression the old psychiatrist Sydney Green had made years earlier. This was his chance to show what he was capable of – a chance he had no intention of screwing up. He'd bring Jarod's powerful intellect back into play slowly, carefully, so that running complicated SIM's wouldn't be an emotional drain.

Mr. Raines wanted results? Well, he could just sit back and wait until he had Jarod performing at the same level as Sydney had – THEN there'd be results the quality of which couldn't be denied. And then it would HIS name that would garner the attention and respect of the Triumvirate. Chambers smiled. If he played his cards right – and if Jarod continued to cooperate – his future was assured.

oOoOo

Sydney looked up as Debbie came through the front door and tossed her books on the table near the stairs. "I'm home," she called and went immediately in search of her unofficial guardian. "Sydney…"

"I'm in here," he called back, shoving the documents Jarod had translated from the research notebooks pertaining to Formula 837A back into the folder. "How was your day, cheri?"

"Fine," Debbie smiled at him and flounced tiredly into the couch across the room from him. "Janice Trimble had the 'flu today, so Mrs. Stuyvesant was grateful that I decided to come in. How about yours?"

Debbie's job of volunteering at one of the local hospitals had come only at the end of a long debate between the two of them – and only after Debbie had cut her long hair and dyed it a dark brunette color. Then, armed with Sydney's real last name as her own on a falsified picture ID card, she'd gone and gotten the job – and surprisingly, peace had been restored in the household.

Debbie was once more motivated to let Sydney cajole her into taking great strides with her home schooling, and even their chess games after supper had regained a game status rather than a power struggle between the two of them. She was no longer bored and open to worry and stew about her father and Miss Parker – which in turn freed Sydney to watch over her with a more reasonable eye and handle other matters as they came to him. He in turn was learning how effective the art of compromise was in dealing with a very intelligent and headstrong teenager, and several times had wondered what might have been the results if he'd had this experiential knowledge upon which to draw when dealing with Jarod during his adolescence and frequent attempts at rebellion.

"Things have been quiet here," he reported in return. "Nothing from either Sam or Angelo except a quick note saying that Sam saw your father the other day – and he seemed just fine."

Debbie closed her eyes gratefully. "How long do you think it will take them to find Jarod or Miss Parker, Sydney?" she asked – as she had asked every couple of days or so for the last three weeks since she'd seen her father."

"I don't know, cheri," Sydney responded gently. "Soon, I hope."

She pointed at the closed folder in front of him. "And what have you been up to – studying those formulas again?"

He nodded. "Something about them bothers me," he grumbled.

"What?"

"We know that some of the known side-effects of the drug are amnesia and psychological pliability. But there is little data on the side-effects of overdose – what harm can be caused to the patient, or whether or not the substance crosses the placental barrier or not…"

Debbie's eyes got wide. "You don't think that they would… that they would have forced Miss Parker…" She shook her head when Sydney nodded slowly. "Dad used to tell me that I really didn't want to know some of the things that went on at the Centre. Now, I guess, I understand why he didn't want me to know."

"I'm also worried about some of the chemicals used to compound this formula – some of them are extremely dangerous by themselves, especially on the ability of the intellect to make logical assumptions and then follow them to logical conclusions. Extended or high-dosage exposure to this formula could be very dangerous to people like Jarod."

"Surely the Centre wouldn't want to harm Jarod," Debbie was surprised yet again.

"From what Sam said, it seems that Jarod's entire value to the Centre is now seen to be in the genetic contribution that he could make to a breeding project." Sydney swallowed his disgust with difficulty. "We already know the lengths to which Raines is willing to go to get a Pretender with Jarod's capabilities."

"Is it true that they cloned Jarod once?"

Sydney nodded sadly. "And then mistreated that young man even more egregiously than they ever did Jarod. One of the few things I've done of which I'm proud was to make sure that Jarod was able to get that young man away from the Centre and into a nurturing and supportive environment with his father." He blinked and then rose to his feet. "Enough of this – I've got a casserole in the oven that should be just about done…"

Debbie rose and stretched. Sydney was right – dwelling on this wasn't accomplishing anything, as usual. "Let me get out of this candy-striper's outfit, and I'll be right back down. I didn't eat much for lunch before I left, so I'm starved!"

oOoOo

"What the Hell happened?" Raines demanded as he watched the surveillance camera footage of the rampage that Jarod had inflicted upon the Sim Lab. "He's been quiet as a lamb for over ten weeks, and now suddenly he's a tornado after two weeks with you. What did you do?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Byron Chambers shook his head sadly. "One moment we were going through the beginning materials of a SIM regarding a plane crash in Dallas years back – one that he did as a young man, incidentally. The purpose of the exercise was to see if he was able to climb into the mind of a participant and see the events as they happened and report them accurately. I was intending to compare his SIM results today with those that he got originally back when."

"And," Raines urged. "Something must have set him off…"

"I was sitting off to the side, waiting for him to get completely into character. And suddenly he was flying off the handle – came at me and then started throwing furniture around…"

"Play back the footage of Sim Lab 15-2A, time-frame 1420," Raines directed the sweeper at the controls of the DSA player hooked to the large screen in front of him. There was a blur as action flew backwards until the particular time-frame was in front of them. "Play it," Raines demanded hoarsely.

It was as the psychiatrist had described. He was sitting quietly to the side of Jarod, playing with a piece of paper while waiting for the Pretender to climb completely into the head of the doomed pilot when suddenly Jarod seemed to focus on the mentor and freeze for a moment. The funniest of looks crossed the man's face, and then he simply exploded.

"Hold it – go back two minutes," Raines directed again. Once more the surveillance footage ran backwards, and then moved forward in real time. "Move in on what Dr. Chambers is doing," he directed when Jarod suddenly turned his head and seemed to freeze while watching his new mentor. The DSA operator moved his thumb smoothly across the panning ball and zeroed in on the psychiatrist, sitting at a table a short distance away from Jarod carefully folding a piece of paper. "Freeze it, right there! Just what the Hell were you doing?" Raines frowned and glared at the psychiatrist.

Byron gazed at his own image on the screen for a moment, and then shrugged. "Origami, I suppose," he said nonchalantly. "I do it sometimes when I'm bored or waiting for something."

Raines' face drew down into a frustrated grimace. "Damn it! What the Hell could be such a powerful memory for him that would revolve around Origami?"

"I had him dosed with Formula 837A again, full strength plus some, the moment the sweepers had him neutralized," Byron said quickly. "We can start again – I'll know not to do Origami around him again… We were just getting to the point that he could run full-scaled SIMs…"

The Chairman was shaking his head. "Damned Pretender," he grumbled to himself. "No – you've had your chance with this one," he told Byron coldly. "You have one more chance to redeem yourself. I'm transferring you to take over the training of another Pretender candidate – a young woman this time. We've been giving her preliminary training that she hadn't had prior to this – let's see how far you can get her toward doing full-scale SIMs in the next twenty-five weeks."

Byron's brows pulled together. "That's an odd time frame," he commented.

"That's the amount of time you have until her baby is ready to be delivered," Raines told him frankly. "After that, if she can't be used, we aren't going to be needing her any longer."

"And what about Jarod?"

Raines shrugged. "He's not your concern any longer, Dr. Chambers. I suggest you head down to Sim Lab 14-8C and introduce yourself to the woman known as Parker. And be careful with what you say or do this time, understand? We can't afford another incident like this one – not with the baby she's carrying at risk."

oOoOo

Sam could count the number of times he'd seen Angelo milling about in a Centre corridor with the rest of the inmates… er… employees, he corrected himself. So seeing him hovering near a back corner of another corridor and looking intensely at him made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Something important had to be happening that was urgent enough that Angelo didn't feel he had the luxury of waiting until Sam was alone in the sweeper break room.

Without being too obvious, Sam made his way over to where Angelo had found another air conditioning vent removed from the security cameras by a fair distance. "Must call Sydney," the little empath stated in a quick and agitated voice. "Jarod in danger – must get out NOW!"

Sam made a show of studying the documents he'd been in the process of delivering. "But we haven't been able to find out where he's being kept," he complained in a whisper.

"SL-15, cell 47-C. Scheduled for termination tonight." With that, Angelo vanished.

Sam's brows had hit the front edge of his hairline. They were going to terminate Jarod? Tonight?? Angelo was right – Sydney would have to be contacted immediately, or as close to it as humanly possible.

He gazed down at the documents in his hands in frustration. If he didn't get these to the head of the Pharmaceutical Department, someone would notice. With a sigh, he headed back in the direction he'd come, aiming at the elevator. Time was of the essence now.

oOoOo

"I think I heard an email arrive," Debbie chirped as Sydney came back into the kitchen from the living room, where he'd taken his study of the translated research notes while she cleared the table and did the dishes. She looked over at the counter, where Jarod's laptop sat up and running in the email client, as it normally did at this time of evening.

Sydney walked over to the computer and hit the space bar to get it past the screensaver, then highlighted the newly arrived message and hit enter. Debbie was setting the dishwasher to scrub the day's offerings when suddenly she heard her guardian mutter a grinding, "Merde!" under his breath.

"What's wrong?" She moved to his side and tried to read over his shoulder.

"I have to go," Sydney told her, closing down the client. "Sam says that he's figured out a way to get Jarod out – and that he has to do it tonight. Jarod's scheduled for termination…"

"Termination?" The girl repeated the word as if hearing it for the first time.

"They're wanting to kill him." Sydney's voice was tightly controlled. "Don't even think of asking to come along – getting your father out so he could remember and go straight back in was one thing, but getting a Pretender out…" He shook his head. "Be ready to run, cheri, if I don't come home tonight."

"Sydney…" Debbie reached for him. "You're frightening me."

"Good." He nodded in satisfaction even as he pulled her into a tight hug. "You need to be frightened, cheri. We're playing an extremely dangerous game – and the stakes just got a lot higher. Here." He pulled a paper out of the folder that was under the laptop. "I was searching through Jarod's computer the other night, and I found this. This is the address and phone number of Jarod's family. If I don't come home tonight…" He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and emptied all the cash he had into a startled hand that he'd pulled roughly from around his waist. "…buy yourself a bus ticket and get to them. They'll know how to keep you safe."

"Don't leave me," Debbie murmured brokenly, clasping the money and yet replacing the arm around his waist and holding even tighter. "Don't leave me alone."

"I can't help it, ma petite. If I don't go now, Sam can't get Jarod out alone – and he'll be killed." Sydney pushed Debbie away so that he could look into her face. "And just as you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you let something like that happen to your dad, I couldn't live with myself if I stood by and let something like that happen to Jarod."

"I understand," she said shakily, wiping at her tears with the back of the hand filled with money. "I just don't want to lose you too."

"I'll be back if I can at all help it," Sydney promised and pulled her to him once more for a quick kiss on the cheek. "Remember what I said – if I'm not home by morning, call Jarod's family and get on the bus. Do you understand?"

Debbie nodded, eyes wide and frightened.

Sydney raised his hand, and then turned and bolted through the garage door. Moments later, Debbie heard the sound of the Buick's engine fire up and back away quickly. She lifted one hand filled with money and the other with a paper in it with the name, address and phone number of people she'd never met – and wondered when her life had stopped being quiet and normal.

And she wondered if she'd ever have a normal life again.


	10. The Last Straw

Chapter 10 – The Last Straw

Sam strode down the hall to the sweeper's locker room, where he knew that all the recent assignment changes were posted to the bulletin board. With luck, the person assigned to take care of the termination order on Jarod wouldn't have seen the board yet – and with a little more luck, nobody would be in there to see Sam switch assignments so that HE was officially in charge of taking Jarod for his 'last walk.' He had an idea – it remained to be seen whether or not it was workable.

He pushed through the door to the locker room with enough force that the door banged up against the wall and left a mark in the cinderblock, but he didn't care. He homed in on that bulletin board and studied it carefully. Yes! There it was – Greg, a relative newcomer, had been given the 'make bones' order. Sam frowned. Obviously they were skipping over his 'Jerry' for some reason – probably not taking chances that 'Jerry' laying eyes on Jarod would cause a dramatic memory return. Oh well – so much for their thinking they were smart. Been there, done that, already recovered from the nausea, he thought to himself wryly.

A careful application of a fingertip erased Greg's assignment to termination duty and 'Jerry's' assignment to outer Tower security, and a quick hand with the dry-erase pen filled in those blanks with the opposite names. Shift change would happen in fifteen minutes – so Greg would come in, read the board, and head for the Tower elevator.

He hoped.

He moved off into the restroom area and slipped into a stall, pulled down his trousers in case somebody decided to come along and check, and then sat down to wait the time out in privacy. He'd been in on a couple of termination orders before he'd been assigned to Miss Parker – moments in time that previously he would just as soon forget ever happened, but could use now as models around which to build a lifesaving variation. He would head to the sweeper's office, collect the termination order, then go down to where they were keeping Jarod and collect him. Then he would walk Jarod to an elevator and take him deep into the Centre to the back side of the incinerator, put a bullet in the man's brain and then slip the body into the 3000 degree fire where it would vaporize under his watchful eye.

At least, that's how it was SUPPOSED to happen, according to accepted policy.

But an associated and now very convenient piece of knowledge that he had was that there was always a backlog of bodies from the Renewal Wing and the morgue waiting for disposal. Raines' tenure in the Chairman's seat had meant an increase in 'research subjects' being taken from the streets of large cities like New York and Boston – cities where they would never be missed – and then subjected to human experimentation that often resulted in death or severe disfigurement. These discarded human dregs were regularly piled in the corridor near the back side of the incinerator, awaiting some sweeper on an alternative-to-occupying-a-body-bag shit-duty to spend the multiple consecutive shifts necessary to nurse any number of corpses through the incinerator.

That inevitable and hopefully sizeable backlog of bodies was going to be Jarod's salvation – because while Jarod could be climbing through the air conditioning system with Angelo in the lead, HE could be nursing one of those backlog corpses in the incinerator – after he had removed it from its body bag and conveniently put a couple of bullets in it in case somebody would make him slide the platform out and check his work. There were no surveillance cameras down next to the incinerator – somebody in upper management had decided that the less evidence of what went on in the Centre, especially the after-effects of what went on, the better – so any 'quality assurance' was done first-hand. Sam could handle that…

Greg's voice was distinctive – he refused to let go of his wide Texas drawl – and Sam smiled and began pulling himself together when he heard the husky Texan grumble, "Tower duty again? They said I was gonna get somethin' INTERESTING today!" He flushed the toilet and came innocently out to face three other of his sweeper colleagues and Greg.

"You got shit-duty this time, Jerry," Calvin grinned from the end of the locker row, where he was seated and pulling on a pair of clean socks. "Termination order has your name on it."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam assumed an astonished look and hurried over to the bulletin board. "I'll be damned!"

Fred shrugged and bumped past him sympathetically. "Hey! We all end up having to do one or two of these eventually."

"Better get to it," Miguel advised the huge man still gaping at the bulletin board. "If things run to normal, the brass in the Tower are probably eager that you help them rid themselves of a nuisance. The sooner you get things done, the better it looks for you."

"How do I do this?" Sam feigned ignorance.

Armed with directions he didn't really need, Sam walked briskly to the office to pick up the termination order. The sweeper in charge didn't even blink, but handed him the paper without a glance at his face. Sam headed out of the office and down the hall toward the elevator before the man had a chance to change his mind. Then it was a long, nerve-wracking ride down to SL-15, where he'd have to locate Cell 47-C and drag Jarod out. He showed the termination order to the sweeper at the end of the hallway, and was escorted down the corridor to 47-C where the guard punched in the security code and unlocked the door.

Inside the cell, Jarod was sitting on the edge of the pallet with his head hanging low, hands dangling limply from wrists resting on his knees. At the commotion of his door opening, the Pretender looked up – and Sam had to work hard to swallow back a gasp. The dark chocolate eyes that had always danced with intelligence and mischief in his experience were blank and empty. "Yes?" the Pretender asked politely, not rising. "Can I help you?"

The guard behind him snickered coldly, and Sam had to force himself to stalk into the cell and drag Jarod to his feet by the scruff of the neck. "You need to come with me," he stated harshly and gave the Pretender a none-too-kind push to head him out the door.

Jarod didn't complain or balk, but merely regained his balance and did as the angry-looking man behind him wanted him to. "Do I know you?" he asked in a small and hopeful voice.

"Move it!" Sam ground out and gave him another small shove that looked rough but wasn't. He had Jarod's elbow securely in hand while they waited for the elevator, and then as they rode the little metal box down deeper into the bowels of the Centre. When the doors slid open, Sam again shoved Jarod roughly forward. "That way!" he ordered for the benefit of the security camera in the elevator car. There was one more camera to get past, and he made sure the show that he was putting on with Jarod in tow was adequate for the deed supposedly happening.

It wasn't until he had Jarod safely inside the incinerator area and was moving him along the black-bag-lined corridor behind the roaring flames that his grip on Jarod's elbow eased significantly. Finally, in front of the heavy metal access door and a sterile-looking metal slide, he pulled the Pretender to a halt.

"Listen to me!" he said with a quiet and desperate tone. "I want you to get in there." He pointed to the grating on the wall. "Go forward until you meet someone – they'll show you the rest of the way out."

"Why are you doing this?" Jarod's eyes were wide and frightened. "I didn't do anything…"

"I know you didn't, buddy. That's why you're going in there, and NOT in there." This time his finger pointed to the door behind which the white-hot flames roared. "We don't have a lot of time for you to discuss this – so get moving!"

"Do I know you?" Jarod asked again, still without moving.

"Yeah, you do – and that's why I'm here," Sam replied, taking Jarod by the elbow again and leading him to the vent by force. He jerked the grate open – and then reached into Jarod's collar and pulled the identification tag from the shirt that would support his claim to have 'taken care of' the termination order. "Get in and get going!"

Jarod blinked and then folded his tall frame to do what the angry man asked of him. He'd crawled forward only a pace or two when he heard the metal grate slam shut after him. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath and began to move forward again, wondering just where this passage led and who it was that was supposed to meet him.

Sam walked back to the corridor and hefted one of the body bags over his shoulder and carried it to the back side of the incinerator. Steeling himself, he unzipped the body bag and tumbled the corpse onto the metal slide with a slightly sloppy sound. Almost done, he thought to himself as he pushed the button that opened the huge incinerator door. He tossed the body bag into the flames and then grimaced – this was the part he hadn't been looking forward to. He forced himself to reach down to the corpse's head and pull it up off the slide just enough that he could angle a bullet into the brain that flew all the way through and into the incinerator – as was the policy. He dropped his hold and then gave a mighty shove that propelled the slide into the glowing maw. A push of another button retracted the slide and closed the heavy door, leaving the corpse just within view on a special grate.

Sam walked over to a utility sink and carefully washed the disgusting corruption from his hands and then settled down onto a folding chair to watch the corpse begin to bubble and char through the thick window. It was done – to the best he could accomplish on short notice. Jarod's ID was in his pocket to be turned in as duly terminated – and the substitute corpse was rapidly reaching a state where it would be impossible to tell that it wasn't the Pretender himself in there.

As he watched the body slowly vanish, he made up his mind that the time had come for him to work closely with Broots. They had to get Miss Parker out, and get her out quickly. He had an idea about that too – one that would eventually have to get run past both Broots and Sydney, since it involved Debbie. Like before, the risk was high – but this time, the consequences would be exactly what they all wanted eventually.

But time was running out. Things had to start happening – NOW.

oOoOo

By now Jarod was beginning to get confused. It was very dark in that ventilation duct and impossible to know exactly in which direction he should be heading. For all he knew, he could have doubled back on himself and was heading back to that room – with the angry man who'd almost pushed him into this thing…

A light flickering in the metal tunnel ahead stilled his worries a bit, and he held still until the smaller man with the flashlight in his teeth had come close enough to actually see. Vivid blue eyes gazed at him happily from beneath bushy brows and a mop of wildly messed hair. "Friend follow Angelo now. Angelo show you the way…" the little man said in a strangely abbreviated but understandable way of speaking. "Come…"

"Wait…" Jarod touched the man's arm as he began to swing away to turn around. "Do I know you?"

Angelo turned again, pushing his back against a wall and seating himself in an almost comfortable-looking position, and smiled. "Friends a long time," was the answer.

"Who are you?"

"Angelo."

"Do you…" Jarod swallowed hard. "Do you know who I am?"

The smile grew wider and very understanding. "You're Jarod."

Jarod turned the name around in his mind and decided that it did indeed feel almost familiar. "Jarod…" he whispered, handing himself a sliver of self-knowledge after floundering with insecurity and fear of being in a strange place and not knowing even his own name. Even if it WASN'T his real name, it would do for now…

"Come now – Sydney waiting." Angelo moved off, and then waited until he could tell that the confused Pretender was following him.

Sydney? Jarod turned this new name over in his mind while trusting that the little man in front of him knew exactly where he was going. Did he know a Sydney? Was that a man's name or a woman's name? He would have called forward his question, but he was quickly discovering that crawling through this tight, metal tunnel was physically draining, and he was becoming winded. There would be time for questions when Angelo stopped – or they reached the end of the tunnel – whichever came first.

He groaned when the tunnel ended at a vertical drop – and he saw that Angelo had climbed out onto a ladder and was moving steadily upwards. What did Angelo think he was – a gymnast? A vague scene floated almost to the surface of his mind – of reaching for metal bars and feeling the freedom of moving smoothly through the air high above the… The scene faded, and yet left him with the security of knowing that his hands were able to hold him and pull him upwards more than he'd thought possible. He reached for the rung next to the opening and carefully pulled himself out onto the ladder and began climbing.

oOoOo

Sydney crept along the trees next to the Centre lawn and then extinguished his flashlight when he saw that the shack was clearly visible in the moonlight. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted across the grass and into the shadow, and then worked his way around the end so that he could dislodge the padlock and pull the door open. Once in, he pulled the door closed again and reached for the flashlight hooked on his belt.

There was no sign that anybody had been there since he and Sam and Debbie and Broots had been there weeks ago. Dust on the floor was undisturbed except for his own shoeprints, and the grate was shut the way it was supposed to be. Sydney put out the flashlight after finding a nice place in a corner where he could pace without stubbing a toe or tripping over machinery.

He tipped his wrist and pushed the button on his watch to get the dial to glow – it was nearly midnight. Anxiously he looked in the direction he knew the grate was in and wished that he could hear the sounds of someone moving through the metal passage – but all was silent still.

Where could they be? The email had been urgent – demanding an immediate response – you would have thought…

There it was, the sound of soft sliding that he recognized from having made that noise enough himself of late. He flipped the flashlight back into life and moved to the grate to open it. Shining the beam of light down the duct, he caught sight of Angelo's face – and of a shadow moving steadily behind him. "Jarod…" he breathed in relief, and then was reaching into the duct to assist Angelo in extracting himself.

As Angelo moved aside, Sydney reached into the duct once more and grasped the Pretender's elbow to help give him balance to push himself out into the room. Once Jarod was out of the duct and on his feet, Sydney pulled his former protégé into a tight hug. "Jarod! Thank God!"

Jarod suffered the embrace without complaint – this Sydney must know him well to be this excited and happy to see him. He only wished he could remember either of these people. When he finally was pushed back so that Sydney could assess his former student's condition, he studied the face of the aging man in front of him. "Do I know you?" he asked softly.

Sydney's face fell the moment the words left Jarod's lips. "Yes," he replied sadly, clasping Jarod's shoulder still in warm welcome, "you know me verrry well."

Jarod frowned. Something about those words tweaked at his mind as if they were extremely familiar – and then the feeling evaporated again. He shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs and gazed at his mentor with an equal measure of sadness and confusion. "I wish I could remember…"

"We'll be working on that, my boy," Sydney assured him and then turned to Angelo. "I've got him – I'll take it from here."

"Daughter come soon," Angelo told the mentor with a quick frown. "Be ready. Sam will ask – you must agree."

Sydney's brows furled as the little empath's statement was more convoluted and less intelligible than normal. "What will Sam ask?"

"Watch email. You must agree," Angelo said and then dove for the ventilation duct.

"Does he always talk that way?" Jarod asked in confusion.

Sydney nodded and moved to close the grate after him. "Come on," he urged, extinguishing the flashlight again. "We have to get you away from here."

"Everybody keeps saying that," Jarod commented in confusion, but prepared himself to follow instructions again. This Sydney seemed to know what he was doing and where he needed to go – and it was better than sitting around in that tiny little cell with nothing else to do…

oOoOo

Sam stood while the duty sweeper examined the ID tag that he'd removed from Jarod's collar. There was blood on the tag – Sam had taken his knife and given himself a tiny cut on the side of the leg near the ankle and then dabbed some of his own blood on it to make it look as if it had been retrieved AFTER the bullet to the brain. "Good work, Silva," was the satisfied word. "Consider yourself excused for the rest of this shift – and be ready for something better than simple guard duty when you come back next time."

"Thanks!" Sam beamed and then made quick tracks out of the office. From the looks of things, they had bought the ruse – and with any luck, Angelo had delivered Jarod to Sydney and the two of them were on their way back to Dover and the safe house. The plan had worked out even better than he'd hoped – but now to cobble one together that would see Miss Parker free of this place. That would be much more difficult.

Seemingly nonchalantly, Sam strolled toward the Computer Technology Department. This late at night, there would be few in the corridors – and by remaining dressed in the duty-specified black suit, he wouldn't call much attention to himself as being out of place. The door to the department's computer lab was standing open – and Broots was on his feet and leaning against the wall at the back of the room, downing a carbonated drink.

Sam waited until the movement in the doorway caught Broots' attention, then mouthed the word 'rest room' to him and moved away. Broots choked on the very next swallow of his drink, but recovered and threw the can in the recycling receptacle nearby and headed off in the direction of the nearest rest room.

"What?" the technician demanded after the door had finally swung closed on the two of them apparently alone.

Sam checked each stall, and then glanced up to check the condition of the surveillance camera. Centre security ran random surveillance of the rest rooms – but tended not to leave the cameras on for any length of time so as not to tempt an invasion of privacy lawsuit from one or more of the lower employees who were still naïve enough to think they worked for a 'regular' corporation. As luck would have it, the camera in this rest room on that night was turned off – and Sam disconnected the lead wire to it, just in case it was scheduled to come on anytime soon. "I just got Jarod out," he told the tech in a terse voice, "when I found out he was scheduled for termination."

"Termination?" Broots' pale face faded away by another shade again. "I thought he'd be valuable…"

"Only as a sperm donor," Sam grumbled in disgust, "and evidently they have all of THAT they think they'll need. Angelo and I took care of it – but it's time to start thinking of finding Miss P."

Broots shook his head. "I've been peeking off and on – but nothing with her name on it has come past lately."

"Look harder – look deeper," Sam growled at him. "If they're ready to terminate Jarod, God only knows what they're willing to do to her."

"Jeez…"

"And that reminds me," Sam remembered and moved closer to his cohort. "Until or unless Jarod remembers who the hell he is and what he can do in time to come up with another plan, I have one – but it involves Debbie…"

"Now you wait just a minute." Broots' face grew hard. "Risking my own neck is one thing, but I don't want her involved…"

"I'm thinking that she might be the key to bringing this whole place down, Broots," Sam insisted fervently. "You know what they're trying to do with that damned amnesia formula – do you REALLY want them to have the chance to put that stuff in the hands of terrorists?"

"No, but I don't want Debbie in danger for one minute either," Broots retorted.

"If things go as I intend them to, she won't be," Sam assured him, "because we'd time it just right so that she'd be with me the whole time – and I'll make sure to keep her safe."

Broots looked at the sweeper skeptically. "Just exactly what is it that you have in mind?"

oOoOo

"Sydney!"

The psychiatrist quickly put out his arms and gathered the girl who threw herself at him as he walked through the door to him. "I'm here, cheri," he murmured to her, concerned that she was trembling so badly. "I came back – and look what I brought with me!"

Debbie raised her head from Sydney's chest and looked beyond him as he turned. "Jarod!" She smiled and leaned back against the man who had been her guardian for so long now. "They got you out in one piece!"

Jarod's face folded in confusion. This setting had the stamp of a family unit – one to which it seemed possible he might belong. "I guess they did," he said in a hesitant voice.

"Come now, cheri, Jarod's probably hungry," Sydney soothed at Debbie until she released her stranglehold on him after giving him a noisy bus on the cheek. He turned to his former student. "Are you hungry?"

Jarod shrugged. Was he hungry? Did he know how he could tell such a thing? "I suppose," he said noncommittally. The one meal he did remember was a tasteless goo that looked even worse than it tasted. He worked his mouth, finding that one of the only memories he could actually claim was the attempt to get the taste of that horrid stuff out of his mouth with water from the sink over the commode in his cell.

Sydney smiled at the expression. "Whatever it was they fed you in there – we have much better out here!" He swept a fond hand over Debbie's close-shorn locks. "Why don't you heat him up some of that casserole we had for supper?" he suggested.

Debbie smiled up at him and then headed over to the refrigerator to make a quick meal for a hungry man. She spooned a healthy portion of the evening's meal onto a plate and slipped it into the microwave. Meanwhile Jarod, feeling completely out of place in this thoroughly domestic setting, slid into one of the kitchen chairs and tried to make himself inconspicuous – although he had to admit to himself that this was much preferable to the way that angry man had treated him before…

Sydney seated himself across the table from his former student and studied his face carefully. This memory-bereft Jarod's emotions were on the surface and easily understood by anybody who cared to observe. "You're safe here," he reassured the tall man in a melodious voice. "I know things must be very confusing to you right now…"

Jarod looked at the older man with muted frustration. "Everybody says that they know me – that I know them – but I Just… Can't… Remember!" His hands closed into fists and he pounded very lightly on the tabletop, as if afraid that any sign of rebellion would result in regrettable backlash.

"We just need to find a key to trigger your memories to return," Sydney told the anxious young man in a calm voice designed carefully to soothe. "But we have plenty of time for that now – I hope. Right now, just enjoy your meal and know that you're safe."

"Where was I – and why was everybody so anxious to get me out of there?" Jarod eyed the plate that Debbie was setting down in front of him cautiously until he got his first whiff of the food. Sydney watched him pick up his spoon and cautiously slip a very tiny taste into his mouth and roll it over his tongue. "It's very good!" he commented in surprise and smiled, and then dug in with gusto.

"We needed to get you out of there because you were scheduled to be killed," Sydney explained patiently, nodding when Jarod looked up at him with wide and startled eyes. "That's what Sam – the man who got you to Angelo – was supposed to be doing."

Suddenly Jarod understood Sam's statement about, 'That's why you're going in there," referring to the ventilation ducts, 'instead of THERE,' referring to the roaring flames in the huge furnace. "He was supposed to kill me?" Sydney nodded. "Why?"

"I would imagine you'd outlived your usefulness," the psychiatrist replied candidly and sadly. "I wouldn't worry about it much right now. Eat your supper," he pointed at the food, and Jarod dug in again without hesitation. "We'll work on your memory in the morning – when we're all more rested."

Jarod ate with quiet concentration until the plate was absolutely clean, and then looked up. "You were right," he stated with the beginnings of a happy smile, "the food is MUCH better out here."

Sydney nodded with a small smile of gratitude. "I'm glad you liked it. But it's late – and I'm exhausted, and no doubt you're tired as well. I'll show you to your room…"

"MY room?" Jarod's eyes bulged. "Have I been here before?"

Debbie giggled. "This is YOUR house, Jarod – at least, that's what you told me."

Jarod turned startled eyes back to Sydney, whom he was rapidly coming to view as the one person with the roadmap to his sanity. Sydney nodded. "It's true," he affirmed gently.

Debbie bent and gave Sydney a hug about the neck. "I'm pooped – and I'm going to call it a day. Besides, I have morning shift tomorrow…"

"Debbie…" Sydney's eyes had narrowed warily. "I'm not sure if this is a good time for you to be out…"

Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, please don't let us argue about this again, Sydney. My hair's short, it's a different color, the name on my ID and on my employment record is Geert, and supposedly I'm eighteen. There's nothing that would lead them to me."

"I just worry about you, ma petite," he responded, turning to her and hugging her back. "I promised your father that I'd take care of you as if you were my own – and right now, I'm not exactly feeling very secure."

"That's my fault," Jarod mumbled, not intending to be heard.

"No, it's not your fault," Sydney corrected his former student. "It's just the consequence of the situation at hand. If the Centre finds out what we've done – granted that's a fairly big IF – then they're going to be out in force looking for the three of us again."

Jarod looked up. "Again?" he repeated.

"I promise I won't call any attention to myself," Debbie promised in a slightly wheedling voice. "I've kept my promise so far, haven't I?"

Sydney looked at her. "No side trips on the way over or back," he bargained with her. "You go straight to work and come straight home."

"I can do that," she hugged him again. "I'll see you in the morning." She accepted a kiss on the cheek and then turned to wave at Jarod. "See you in the morning, Jarod."

"See you…" Jarod mimicked the farewell, then turned confused eyes on Sydney. "Will I ever fit in again?"

"Come on," Sydney told him, rising and extending his hand to give Jarod a boost to his feet. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Jarod followed the older man as he led him through the house and then up the stairs. "The door at the end of the hall is your room," Sydney stated, pointing. "Bathroom is to the left. Sleep yourself out – you've earned it."

"Thanks, I guess." Jarod moved slowly down the hallway, hearing Sydney head back down the stairs behind him. Cautiously he put out his hand and slowly opened the door to the room designated as 'his' and reached around the corner almost automatically for the light switch.

The room wasn't as neat as the rest of the house – there were clothes tossed on some of the furniture, and the bed looked as if the sleeper had just climbed out of it. Jarod moved about the room, looking and cautiously touching things without picking anything up or moving it. It was like walking into somebody else's life – and the fit wasn't all that good yet.

He really was tired – the long crawl through the metal ductwork and the long climb up that ladder that seemed virtually endless had taken a lot out of him, and the stress of being a known quantity by everybody around him but himself was taking its toll as well. With a sigh, he landed on the edge of the bed on the side that had been slept in – funny how he was drawn automatically to that side of the bed. Without even really thinking about it, he toed off his shoes, finding the thunk as each one hit the floor remotely comforting. Where he had been the floor had been cement – and no sound had been made by his shoes hitting that solid surface.

One more time he looked around the room, and then his eyes lit upon the fact that the drawer to the nightstand right by his pillow was slightly pulled out. Feeling a bit like a voyeur – and then wondering where he would have learned such a concept to begin with – he pulled open the drawer, and then stared. Inside was a plastic head of a rabbit, done in grays and whites, stuck to a straight container of some kind that was about six inches long.

He couldn't resist – this had the look and feel of something that perhaps a child would enjoy. He tinkered with it – turning it first this way and then that, trying to figure out a way to see what was in the long container. Then, accidentally, he brushed the head just right and it tipped back – exposing a small rectangular block of something that protruded slightly.

Jarod frowned slightly and carefully pinched the little block from its place – whereupon the head flopped back into place. He lifted the little block to his nose and sniffed at it, and an enticing odor wafted from it. Evidently it was a food, and was meant to be eaten. Slowly he placed the little block on his tongue and then drew it in where it could begin to dissolve.

It was incredibly sweet – with a fruity tang that was so familiar. I know this taste, Jarod thought to himself in astonishment. This is… Pez! With that, his world seemed to tip and spin out of control for a moment, while voices seemed to come at him from every direction:

"My name is Sydney, and I'll be taking care of you for a while."

"It's still 'you run, I chase,'"

"…and you shot and killed both women didn't you – DIDN'T YOU!?"

"What?"

"Have you ever been fishing, Sydney?"

"Focus, Jarod – see what the pilot saw. What do the controls tell you?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"I am today…"

"You will do as you are told – and you will do only that."

"Have a drink with me, Jarod, while I'm still buyin'…"

"Don't be stupid, Jarod – I know things… things about your family…"

"Hello, Jarod. My name is Sydney…"

"Hey, there, Jay-Rod…"

"Jarod, STOP!!"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can still remember the girl who gave me my first kiss…"

Jarod opened his eyes and found himself lying prone on the bed, bedclothes clutched tightly in his hands. As he did, it was as if the floodgates were opened, and the events and memories of a lifetime filled his mind to overflowing. Who he was, where he was, what he was, and…

His brows furled. Now he could remember what had happened in the Centre in relation to the rest of his life – and the anger surged within him. They had stolen his life – again! Only this time, they'd tried to make a robot out of him, then tried to make him into a Pretender without a soul, and then stolen what little memory he had when things began to click the last time.

This was the final, the very last straw. The Centre had interfered in his life for the last time. When he got up the next morning, he'd demand to talk to Miss Parker and see what could be done to put an end to the madness once and for all.

The thought of Miss Parker suddenly brought him to a stand-still. SHE was trapped in the Centre – THAT was why he'd been caught! He'd been trying to get to her.

They'd pay, he decided with a flush of cold fury. They'd finally gone too far – and they'd pay. And God help anybody who got in his way of giving Raines and Lyle and Willy and all of them the well-deserved payback that they had coming to them.

And with a sigh of utter relief and thankfulness for not being lost anymore, Jarod closed his eyes and put his arm across his face – and for the first time in recent, and past, memory, slept soundly until long after dawn.


	11. Getting All the Ducks in a Row

Chapter 11 – Getting All the Ducks in a Row

Sydney came down the stairs scratching his head. He'd slept better that night than he had ever since receiving that brief visit from Miss Parker almost three months earlier. Just knowing that Jarod was back, in body if not in spirit yet, and things might start to straighten out properly had been all the incentive he'd needed for a good night's rest. Still a creature of habit, he'd awakened at his regular time and arisen early enough that he'd have time for a leisurely breakfast before running for the Centre – until he'd remembered that he wasn't going back there anymore. Still, he'd grown accustomed to having his extra strong cup of coffee in the morning to help him get a jump-start on the day – and since vanishing with Debbie in tow, he'd missed his daily dose of the sludge Broots called 'espresso.' In those long weeks since he'd last seen Broots in the Sim Lab, he'd had to learn how to concoct something similar in his own kitchen.

He wasn't quite prepared, however, to amble into the kitchen to discover Jarod already up and dressed and in the process of making delicious-smelling coffee. A healthy serving of eggs already whipped together for scrambling was sitting in a bowl, waiting for the butter to melt in the frying pan already on the stove and heating slowly. "You're up early," Syndey commented in surprise.

Jarod flipped the switch on the coffeepot and turned to shoot his former mentor one of his trademark smirks. "Hi, Sydney," he tossed off as if it were something he said everyday and moved to the stove. "You still like your eggs scrambled in real butter don't you – or have you had a cardiologist try to talk you out of that now?"

Sydney's jaw dropped to the floor. "Jarod?" He moved quickly to the Pretender's side and stared up into the man's face before a smile began to slowly dawn. "You remember!"

"And the moment anybody begins to argue against the curative power of Pez, they'll have me to contend with," Jarod quipped and then chuckled, "although I could have done without the attack of vertigo."

"I was wondering what it was going to take," the old psychiatrist snorted sympathetically and went to fetch down three coffee mugs. "As for the disorientation, according to both Sam and Broots, that seems to be a major side effect of exploiting the flaw in the formula. At first, I thought it was the result of the injection you gave Sam, but when Broots had the same response with a dose of chloroform, I figured it had to be something connected with Formula 837A."

"I was wondering if we ever got through to Sam, after I finally remembered who Sam was and that he was the first one taken," Jarod nursed the melting butter in the frying pan and then dumped the scrambled eggs in when it was time. "And you say you have Broots back too now? Pretty good…"

Sydney slipped into a kitchen chair to watch his protégé make breakfast, perfectly content to let the Pretender do what he wanted for the time being. "Sam happened to see him – and we went after him with Angelo's help. It's been nearly six weeks since then."

Jarod ran his spatula expertly along the bottom of the frying pan and slowly coaxed fluffy scrambled eggs from the liquid goo he'd poured into the pan. "I know where she is, Sydney – or, at least, where she was the day I was caught…"

"Jarod, that was over three months ago, and…" Sydney wasn't exactly sure how to tell him what Sam had related as far as the Centre's intentions for her. "Knowing Raines and how determined he is, I need to tell you that Miss Parker is probably pregnant by now..." He gazed at Jarod in sympathy, knowing how hard this would be on the sensitive young man. "And from the information Sam got, it's reasonably certain that if she is, the child will be yours."

Jarod's hand stilled in the middle of stirring the eggs in the pan. "Damn them," he murmured forcefully, "damn them to Hell for playing God in the name of restarting the Pretender Project!" He forced himself to tend to the eggs. "Where did he hear this?"

"Sam was taken into Raines' 'elite unit', remember?" Sydney reminded him. "Part of that duty was standing around making sure the Tower stayed secure while Raines and Lyle discussed their 'Contingency' project…"

"'Contingency' – how appropriate," Jarod sneered bitterly. The thought of her trapped in that place, her memories of who she was and where she came from stolen from her and forced to have a child – HIS child – was almost more than he could bear without running to the bathroom and getting violently ill. "This has got to end, Sydney…"

"Broots said that some of the documents he's been data-entering lately have dealt with a pending sale of Formula 837A to some Arabs – representatives of Al Qaida – in the near future," Sydney decided that the sooner the Pretender had all the bad news, the better. "So yes, we need to put a stop to this – but we have to get Miss Parker and Angelo out of there before anything worse can happen to either one of them."

Jarod silently dished the scrambled eggs onto three plates and carried two of them to the table. Sydney took his plate from the Pretender without speaking to him, seeing from the expression on his face and in his eyes that Jarod was thinking through all of the known facts of the situation in order to come up with some sort of plan.

"Good morning, Sydney – Jarod…" Debbie chirped from the kitchen door and bounced over to Sydney's side to claim a hug and kiss on the cheek. "How are we doing today?"

"He remembers," Sydney told her with a nod of the nose in Jarod's direction.

The girl eyed the Pretender with a knowing expression. "Good. But how…"

"The healing power of Pez…" Jarod muttered absently, returning to the counter to bring Debbie her plate of eggs.

"So why the long faces?" She put her plate down at her place and slid into her chair.

"I also just told him the latest news from Sam about Miss Parker – and from your father about the drug that was used on all of them," Sydney explained patiently. He took another bite of the delicious eggs.

Debbie looked back and forth between her erstwhile guardian and the prodigal Pretender and decided to just enjoy the meal and head off to the hospital. The signs of stress between the men was simply too much to try to battle both of them to lighten the mood at the table.

Hopefully things would be better when she got back that noon.

oOoOo

Parker's brow was beaded with perspiration, and her eyes were frantic behind the virtual reality goggles. "I can't breathe, Byron!"

"Concentrate, Parker! You can do it!" Byron Chambers urged his newest protégé from the sidelines. "Don't lose your focus!"

"It's all out of control!" Parker insisted desperately. "I'm going to crash – we're all going to die…"

"No, you're not!" the voice of her mentor came to her over her headphones. "Think! You can control the way the vehicle is behaving…"

"I can't!"

"YES YOU CAN!" he yelled back at her.

Parker gulped and swallowed hard. "Maybe if I eased the flaps up eight degrees…"

"That's it," Bryon crowed gently, watching the computer take the minor corrections that Parker was making into the control panel in front of her and translate them into practical applications affecting the simulated flight of the jet liner. "Keep it up…"

"And if I throttle back just a bit…"

"Careful…" he warned, keeping an eagle eye on the gauges. "Careful… There you are," he crowed again when he saw that she'd regained control of the vehicle, "You've done it!"

Parker reached up and lifted the goggles from her face and leaned her head back against the transparent plastic in exhaustion. "Please, Byron, let that be the end of it for today," she begged.

Byron pressed a button and watched the computer assemble the results of the SIM that had not only tested her reaction times and performance levels under extreme stress, but put her figures against the two other scores available for the same SIM – Jarod's and Gemini's. He smirked and felt his chest expand – her scores were virtually the same as those of either male subject.

"All right," he conceded, knowing that even if he'd wanted to continue with the testing for the day, Raines' orders had been very specific regarding the amount of work and stress that this Pretender would be allowed to handle while pregnant. The child she carried was to be his REAL protégé, trained from infancy to look to and receive guidance solely from HIM. He, Byron Chambers, would be responsible for the care and training of the world's first Super Pretender – and nothing, including overworking the woman carrying the child, would get in the way of that. He gave a quick gesture to the sweeper that was perpetually stationed in the corner of the Sim Lab to come forward. "You can take the rest of the afternoon and evening off – and rest up. Tomorrow, we start a new SIM that will challenge your abilities of concentration and focus."

Parker waited patiently for the sweeper to take a firm hold on her arm before beginning to move at all – knowing that this was how she'd been told was the proper way to wait for her escort. "Thanks, Greg," she told the young Texan gratefully and then leaned into his grip a bit.

"The doc sure put you through your paces today, didn't he?" Greg asked her cordially. Even though the woman was technically a permanent fixture in the Sim Lab lately, she was a gracious and kind lady whose care was his responsibility when not directly involved with her psychiatrist trainer. It didn't hurt to be friendly – especially when it meant full cooperation from the person he was escorting.

She nodded tiredly. "I don't think I've been this tired in a long time," she replied, her voice giving evidence to her exhaustion.

Greg's grip on her elbow became more supportive than restrictive as he maneuvered her through the open elevator door and pushed the button that would take the two of them back to her room in the Renewal Wing. Parker used the relative privacy of the elevator car to lean against the wood-finished metal siding. As she had often, she raised her eyes to the upper back corner of the car and the small hole that penetrated the thin metal sheeting. "Do you ever wonder how that got there?" she asked, pointing.

Greg's gaze followed her pointed index finger, and then he looked back at her and shook his head. "Nope," he replied. "I heard some broad committed suicide in here a long time ago. Ya woulda thought that they'd have patched the hole…"

Parker's eyes rose up to the hole again as if drawn here by magnetism. In a very dark and distant corner of her mind, she thought she could hear the sounds of a child screaming for its mother, but as she tried to chase down the thought or memory, the further away it seemed to float. "You would think they'd have fixed it almost immediately," she agreed, forcing her eyes to focus on the silver of the elevator door in front of her. "Unless, of course, leaving it there served a useful purpose…"

Greg shuddered at the thought that a bullet hole in an elevator car might constitute a subtle message – to whom would such a message be aimed, and what would it be regarding, he wondered. He dismissed the troubling thoughts as he approached the security desk guarding the entrance to the Renewal Wing and signed himself and Parker through.

He'd heard all kinds of stories about things that had happened in the Centre before his time – stories he hoped were only company myths. He didn't need to upset the pretty lady when she was this tired. Maybe he'd share what he'd heard with her another day – and see what she thought. She was a sharp cookie, after all…

oOoOo

Sam chose not to pay the least attention to the security camera in the sweeper's locker room that slowly panned back and forth as he sat down at the computer terminal. All of the sweepers were allowed to use this terminal – and the several others like it scattered throughout the complex – during their breaks and off-hours time to check email and do a little web-surfing. Sam had taken advantage of the opportunity and created for himself an email account at one of those free web-based email services so as not to create as much of an email trail for himself on the Centre mainframe itself.

Now he moved smoothly into that interface intent on typing in Jarod's cryptic email address as the recipient. He HAD to get word to Sydney that at last he had an idea about how to find Miss Parker and get her out – especially now that he had Broots' reluctant permission to use Debbie as a diversion. Debbie would catch the attention of the twin monsters running the Centre at just the right moment so as to keep them from noticing all of the other, quiet activities going on elsewhere that would spell an end to the Centre as a malignantly viable and profit-making endeavor.

But when he opened the webpage with his inbox, there was a message from Broots' freebie email account – created for much the same reason – waiting for him. Sam's face lit up as he read the first line - the little computer tech had finally found Miss Parker! Almost immediately, however, his face folded into a deep frown as he continued reading. She was shuttled daily between her room in the Renewal Wing to a Sim Lab a couple of sublevels removed from Sydney's old lab – where she was slowly working her way through the Pretender training program and stood virtually on the brink of starting to run SIMs for profit as equally talented as Jarod had been.

Broots further reported that he'd discovered a doctor's report on the progress on her and something now being called Project Phoenix with details on the latest ultrasound and lab results from an amniocentesis test that had been run a few weeks earlier. They'd done it – she was pregnant – and the very thought turned his stomach.

Sam deleted the message immediately and opened a new email to Sydney – and hopefully to a recovered Jarod too – detailing what Broots had told him and explaining the particulars of the plan that he'd thought through several times over the last twenty-four hours and in which he still could see no flaws. He reiterated several times in the course of the email that Broots had agreed to the plan, just in case Sydney ended up being more overprotective when it came to Debbie's welfare than her own father was. He ended the note by requesting a time frame in which to make their move. Outside and inside arrangements would have to be fairly finely coordinated… especially when bringing in the authorities…

The door to the locker pushed open and Greg ambled in. Sam quickly hit the send button on the screen and logged out of the account before turning around. "You going to want this?" he asked as if turning the terminal over to another sweeper was a normal affair.

"Nah," Greg replied, sitting down in front of his locker. "I think I'm just going to head to the rack. I just watched that woman down in the Sim Lab get put through Hell today – I don't want to do anything but watch some mindless reality show on TV."

"She got put through Hell, eh?" Sam rose, stretched with deceptive casualness, and then strolled over to his own locker and began to remove his suit. "How so?"

Greg shrugged. "They had her in that plastic bubble again, suspended in the air," he tried to explain what had been a fairly unusual sight, "with V.R. goggles over her eyes and this control panel in her lap. Chambers had her believing she was in the cockpit of an airliner that had been hit by a rocket and was falling out of the sky."

"And they did this to a woman?" Sam let being appalled at the thought be clearly heard.

"Evidently she pulled off whatever it was they wanted her to do – and the doc gave her the rest of the day off as a reward." Greg slipped out of the black silk trousers and reached for the denims that he wore normally. "I don't know how they can treat a pregnant gal that way, you know… That much stress must be a bitch on the blood pressure!"

"You'd think…" Sam agreed, keeping his head down as he removed his tie and then his fine, linen shirt. They were doing THAT to Miss P – and she pregnant with what they hoped would be a Super Pretender? His blood boiled, but he carefully kept his voice neutral. "You sound like you're a little sweet on her, man. Better watch it – keep it quiet…"

"What's not to like? She's pretty," Greg admitted with a quick smile at his colleague, "and real smart. Plus she's just got this… NICE… attitude about her – makes a man want to stand up and protect her, ya know?"

Oh yeah, Sam thought to himself, you have NO idea how many people are wanting to protect her – almost as much as others were wanting to use her. He had to admit that 'nice' had never been a word that he would have associated with the Ice Queen of the Centre, however. "You're lucky to have a chance to see her once in a while – since she's part of a pretty high-security project. What I haven't figured out yet is how you managed to get Sim Lab duty so soon out of training," he commented almost jealously, deducing that part of the reason was that as a neophyte, Greg wouldn't recognize the dreaded and feared 'Miss Parker' in the demure woman he observed and guarded. It still made him mad. "What do you do there – just sit and play guard dog?"

"Seems like it most of the time," Greg chuckled. "I'm there mostly to haul her back and forth from the Renewal Wing, and just sit around on my duff otherwise watching the proceedings. I guess the Big Boss Upstairs keeps a real close track of her, being pregnant and all…"

"That must be it," Sam said encouragingly. "Well, I'm off too – wanna join me in the cafeteria for a bite?"

"I'm back to quarters, man," Greg shook his head and pulled his sweatshirt over his head before leaning down to grab his sneakers. "You go on – and stop by and lemme know if they have anything actually edible there tonight, OK?"

Sam chuckled coldly. "You got it, buddy."

Greg finished getting dressed and trotted out of the locker room after giving Sam a companionable high-five. Sam reached for his sneakers and took his time tying them. He'd have to get in touch with Angelo too. Once things started to go down, the odd little empath's importance would be even greater than before. With a little bit of luck, maybe Angelo was already looking for HIM…

oOoOo

Jarod had long since made a habit of doing his hacking into the Centre mainframe while leaving his email client active, so when it chirped at him while he was looking through a document pertaining to 'Contingency', he barely even moved. He switched to the email program and brought up the message from Sam to read it quickly.

"Sydney," he called after a long moment, "you need to see this."

"What is it?" The psychiatrist looked up from his continued study of the translated research notes.

"From Sam – and from the sounds of it, he's ready to put an end to what's going on too."

"He's the one that's been undercover in the Centre the longest – except for Angelo," Sydney remarked as he rose, stretched and moved to bend over and look over Jarod's shoulder.

At first Jarod could tell the older man was elated at the news that Miss Parker's whereabouts had been uncovered – and once more he wondered at the depth of that particular relationship. But as Sydney continued reading, the Pretender could almost sense the hackles rising on the older man's neck, although the only indication that Sydney was anything but his normally calm, cool and collected self was a slight increase in respiration. "He's crazy!" Sydney straightened finally and stomped away in disgust and dismay, his Belgian accent thicker with his distress. "This is sheer madness!"

The Pretender read the note again. "Actually…" he began, having to admire the sweeper for his audacity and sheer courage for even suggesting such a thing, "it's a good plan – one that just could work." Already he was sifting through various scenarios in his head, examining what kinds of unexpected obstructions, consequences and reactions could be.

"What REALLY gets me is how Broots could be convinced to agree…" Sydney continued, waving a hand in the air.

"I think he realizes that she has a stake in this too, you know," Jarod defended Sam. "As long as the Centre thinks that it can pull these kinds of stunts with impunity – haul her father, Sam, Miss Parker, you, me, in and erase our memories of who we are and our place in the scheme of things – none of us is safe. That applies even IF we get Miss Parker and Angelo out of there and run like rabbits for cover. Not to mention that this will give her an active way to feel like she participated in the payback for what was done to her and hers."

"This isn't about payback…" Sydney began.

"Of course it is," Jarod interrupted forcefully. "The Centre has played God for the last time, Sydney. Miss Parker is pregnant with my child – and neither of us had any say in the matter. All THEY want is a Super Pretender that they can train from early infancy – the way they trained my brother Justin – and make him into their idea of a robot with no feelings…" Jarod got to his feet violently and stalked around the table. "Do you know what my father went through, just convincing that young man that having emotions wasn't a sign of weakness and failure, Sydney?"

Sydney cringed – he'd seen signs of this kind of emotional abuse even in the little time that he'd spent with Gemini. "I know," he countered.

"Do you honestly think that I want that for my son or daughter?" Jarod's voice was dying into a lethally soft tone. "Do you think Parker would stand for such a thing for HER own flesh and blood?"

Sydney flinched again, but then faced Jarod's anger directly. "But if you make this all about payback and revenge, rather than keeping it about righting wrongs being done right now, you'll never be satisfied in the end. I know – I've tried!" He turned away. "Do you honestly think that when Dachau was liberated, all the Nazis had completely vanished into thin air? Can you imagine what happened when a group of us – children most of us – came upon a German soldier one night?" The chestnut eyes flashed with anger and regret. "What we did that night was as inhuman as what was done TO us. I…" He took a deep breath. "I fell to a level of savagery that shames me to this day."

Jarod stared at his mentor. "You never told me…"

Sydney gave his former student a brief glare. "There are many things I've never told you, Jarod – for your own good as well as my own. I tell you this now so that you won't make the same mistake I did – and lose your humanity in the name of revenge."

Jarod backed down slightly – Sydney really did have a valid point to make as well as the experience to back it up. "We don't have to lose our humanity in the name of payback, Sydney – Sam won't be letting Debbie do much of anything except play poor little captive in order to divert their attention to what Broots and Angelo are doing for Miss Parker. Then, once those two are out of harm's way, it will be the authorities themselves that will vouch for her safety." Jarod walked back over next to the chair he'd been sitting in and faced his old teacher. "She deserves a chance to help make things right so that they'll never attempt to steal her father away from her again."

Debbie popped her head through the kitchen door. "My ears are burning," she grinned, and then sobered when she saw the expression on the men's faces was still as stressed and concerned as when she'd left. "What?" she demanded, sighing inwardly. She'd thought that getting Jarod back would have been a good thing – raising everybody's spirits. Apparently not…

Sydney huffed and walked over to the refrigerator, knowing that if Debbie was home, it was lunchtime for all of them. Jarod shot Debbie a sympathetic look. "We got an email from Sam that has Sydney a little upset. Sam has a plan that is going to need your participation as an important element in getting Miss Parker and Angelo out of the Centre – and then we can finish bringing the roof down on the monsters that did this to us, once and for all."

"I'm in," she said without an instant of hesitation. From the other side of the kitchen, Sydney huffed again and refused to look at her as he assembled sandwich makings from the fridge. "Don't be angry," she pleaded and then moved to her guardian's side. "I wanted to help before; and now I not only can, but have to," she explained to him, and grabbed a forearm when she couldn't get him to look at her otherwise. "They took my father and stole his memory from him, Sydney – they took away Miss Parker too, from the both of us. I owe them, and you do too."

"Sam's plan is solid and feasible," Jarod argued, hoping that Sydney wouldn't be able to withstand the both of them trying to reassure and convince him to go along. "It will work – it will accomplish everything that we want accomplished when all's said and done – and it will be safe for Debbie."

Sydney capitulated by reaching out and drawing Debbie close to him and holding her very tightly. His golden brown eyes glared a warning to Jarod over her shoulder – and to Sam by inference – that any harm befalling her would not be forgiven. Jarod accepted the warning and turned his back to sit down to type out a response to Sam. "We do this day after tomorrow afternoon," he told the others quietly, "hopefully before anything else can happen."

oOoOo

Parker lay on her bed, counting the ceiling tiles in the dim light that never seemed to be extinguished. She smoothed her hand over her lower abdomen, even though it hadn't started to swell or indicate in any way that a new life was steadily growing in there. SHE knew it was there – she sent it love and concern every time she was alone and could focus her thoughts on it. On her. Mr. Raines had told her that the results of the amniocentesis had shown that she was carrying a daughter. A little girl.

Her lips curled in a gentle smile. In the back of her mind's eye, she could see herself hand in hand with a small, dark-haired child with dancing dark eyes – long hair neatly braided into pigtails that hung nearly to her waist. "Catch me, Momma," the vision called to her in a small voice, and she heard herself laughing out loud as the two of them raced around a lush, green area.

The air conditioning kicked on, and the vision faded with the scent of overly-processed air. Parker grimaced her complaint and opened her eyes again to resume counting the ceiling tiles in her little space. No matter how many times she counted, they always added up to the same number – never more or less. She would have to tell Byron that she was finished with the latest mystery novel and wanted another – and then hope that he'd be a little quicker in finding another one for her than he was the last time she'd made such a request.

There was a rattling within the air conditioning that she hadn't heard before, and she raised her head to stare at the metal grating that covered the vent. Slowly it opened and a man's head began to protrude through the opening. Before she could react, the man had put a finger to his lips and shaken his head. "Be ready," was his soft whisper. "Friend will come for you tomorrow – go with him. You will be safe."

Brows that were finely arched flew high on her forehead, but the man once more had his finger to his lips. "Say nothing, just nod."

Slowly she gave a very tiny nod. The man's face broke into a smile. "They miss you – be glad to have you home." And with that cryptic remark, he pulled his head back into the vent and closed the grate after himself.

Parker relaxed and lay back on her pillow, her mind racing. Who was this "Friend" this odd little man spoke of? Who was it that missed her and would be glad to have her home? Did she have family after all, despite what Mr. Raines and Byron and Fran had told her – and if so, why had they lied to her? Once more her hand smoothed over her lower abdomen protectively. Would it be safer for her to follow this 'Friend' – or to stay here, where they had taken such good care of her after the accident?

The delicate brows furled together. Questions that she'd wanted to ask but had never had the opportunity to voice properly swelled within her. Why did she never see the light of the sun? Where WAS she? Why couldn't she remember her own name or what her husband had looked like yet? Why were they having her do all of these psychological tests and simulations now – when nearly every experiment they threw at her now left her both physically and emotionally exhausted? Surely that couldn't be good for the baby…

The odd little man had said she'd be safe with 'Friend' – and that others had missed her and would be glad to have her back. How glad would they be when they found out that she couldn't remember them? How safe would that make her?

When would 'Friend' come for her? Where? In the Sim Lab? Here?

Parker rolled into a ball and turned on her side. With all these questions, it was likely that she wouldn't be able to get much sleep that night at all.


	12. Payback's a Bitch

Chapter 12 – Payback's a Bitch

Lyle rolled over and sighed heavily, incredibly satisfied for the early hour of the morning. Beside him in the bed, the tiny Chinese woman moaned softly but didn't awaken. It was just as well. The thrill of the kill wasn't necessarily enhanced for him by instilling terror in his victims, but rather in his ability to take and do whatever he wanted to them while they were alive – and then taking that tenderest, most tasty portion of them once they were dead and having his ritual meal.

Normally he didn't do his hunting this close to Blue Cove, but today was a special day. Today was the day that Mr. Raines had told him that his poor, 'lost' twin sister began doing for-profit SIMs for the Centre – and doing them with a skill at Pretending almost as great as that of the dear, departed Jarod. Lyle chuckled coldly, wondering how that egotistical bastard would have reacted to find out that not only was Parker just as good at Pretending as he was, but was a willing subject in whatever Centre experiments were visted upon her. He hoped Jarod was looking up at them from his spot in Hell and suffering all the more.

He'd been pissed at first – Mr. Raines had appropriated his good idea and run with it without giving him the least amount of credit for it. It had been a disappointment to find out they'd had to put Jarod down when the drug treatment for him turned out to be inadequate to the task of keeping him docile – pissed because they hadn't offered HIM the job of putting the Pretender down himself. But as it turned out, Parker was a much better subject – probably as the result of the minute doses of Formula 837A they continued to give her in the fruit juice she drank for lunch – and she would be able to get the Centre back into the black economically while her progeny was being raised and trained. Hell, they'd taken enough genetic material from Jarod this time – before he'd been put down – that they could erase her memory and present her to herself once more pregnant over and over again. How many more Super Pretenders could they get this way – and all while the mother finally made herself genuinely useful to the Centre?

Mr. Raines had been understandably pleased with himself – even to the point of stepping outside the Centre Tower for the first time in months to treat himself, Lyle, Willy and Ndewe Otandi, the current Triumvirate representative in residence, to a delicious and very expensive steak dinner at the best restaurant Dover had to offer. Lyle had nearly choked on his whiskey at the sight of William Raines trying to be a gracious dinner host – the sentiment the old ghoul managed to emote was so totally bogus as to be bordering on pathetic – and yet, the others had bought it! Were they REALLY that blind?

Ah well, Lyle mused, running his hand over the long, black, silky hair that spilled onto the pillow in such profusion. That old bastard wasn't long for this world – especially now that the Centre was poised to reclaim its former prominence in the fields of pharmaceutical and biogenic research. The sale of 837A to the Saudi's being accomplished would get the Centre out of debt almost entirely – so that when Raines had HIS 'accident', Lyle would inherit an up and coming concern.

God, but he'd be glad to be out from underneath that idiotic monster!

Lyle heaved himself out of bed and peeled back the blanket and sheeting from his latest victim and then sighed at the sight of such human perfection. Her limbs were so in proportion to her size – neither too slender nor too plump. She'd been a dancer – graceful, strong, young – he'd had his eye on her since he saw her in the topless bar months ago, writhing about that pole in a way that would make any man horny. No doubt the meat he'd harvest from her would be tastier and more tender than he'd had in a long time.

He briefly debated whether or not the drug he'd given her would last long enough for him to take her one more time before he killed her – his libido had been necessarily undernourished of late – but decided against it. He did have to report in to work SOMEtime that day. Besides, he usually ended up climaxing during the next part of this ritual anyway – he didn't need to dally any further.

He reached beneath the bed for the plastic sheeting that he always kept stored there, along with the framework that fit into carefully hidden slots on the headboard and footboard. It only took fifteen minutes to turn a relatively normal-looking bedroom into a plastic-lined dissection chamber. He then brought out the bucket and tubing assembly that would take care of the greater share of the blood and set it aside.

The final item he dragged out from beneath the bed was his kit – the box that held the scalpels and cleavers that would finish the job begun with the hunt. All he'd need at the moment was the scalpel, so he removed that and pushed the box back under the bed and draped the plastic so that it wouldn't get splattered.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled his victim onto her stomach so that her left arm hung limply over the edge of the bed – and paused to give one last, fond, caress of her firm, smooth buttock. Then he carefully ran the scalpel over the fold lines in the wrist and let the spray of blood begin to paint his naked body with bright crimson splatter as he bent to take his first taste of blood before arranging the tubing to collect the blood for later. Already he was hard again.

And he could look forward to a special meal that evening too when he let HER life essence into HIM. It was this that kept him alive and alert – this sacrament of living essence.

His future looked bright, and life was good!

oOoOo

Darting across the Centre lawn toward the little ventilation shaft in full daylight was a lot more nerve-wracking than doing it in the middle of the night, Sydney decided as he watched the sweeper patrol amble past where he and Debbie were hiding in the thick underbrush. Debbie had donned a green outfit deliberately meant to blend into the green of the grass, in keeping with the plan. Sydney, whose job it was to simply wait in the shack until all who were supposed to be rescued were out, was merely in olive drab overalls supplied by Jarod, who waited next to him.

"Now!" the Pretender announced with a vehement whisper, and the three darted across the short expanse of lawn into the shadow of the little shack. Jarod slipped around the corner and undid the lock. "Come!" he hissed, and the three of them slipped into the shack as quickly as they could.

"Now you know what you're supposed to do?" Sydney asked Debbie as Jarod pulled open the vent and shone the light of his powerful flashlight down the dark tunnel.

"Yes, I know what I'm supposed to do," Debbie replied in a voice that showed that she was starting to get tired of the insistence Sydney was putting on her abiding by the plan. "You've made me go over it HOW many times now?"

"She'll be fine," Jarod soothed his mentor, a little taken aback at the protective way the old psychiatrist was dealing with Broots' daughter. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn that Sydney was acting very much like an over-protective grandfather. "You've drilled her to the point that she knows the plan inside and out."

"I'm still not convinced that she should be anywhere near this place," Sydney retorted, yet relented as he saw that he was getting nowhere with either Jarod or Debbie. "I made a promise to your dad," he told her in frustrated explanation, "that I'd take care of you as if you were my own."

"You've done a good job," Debbie told him, a little less frustrated with him now that she understood his motives. She moved over to him and hugged his waist. "I couldn't have wanted for a better guardian – honest."

Sydney's arms closed tightly around her. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't convince himself that it had been a mistake to let her into his life as much as he had – and it was impossible now for him to imagine her not continuing to be a part of his life. "I just don't want you to get hurt," he murmured at her.

"I'll be fine," Debbie reassured him. "Sam will be with me the whole time – he'll keep me safe."

"But what if Sam gets ordered to leave you alone with Raines and Lyle – what if he isn't allowed to stay with you?"

"That's why Broots' calling the police and reporting Willy's kidnap of his daughter will happen before Sam calls Willy so that it can be Willy that hauls her in the front door of the Centre," Jarod reminded his old teacher. "That way, the eyewitness testimony of even other Centre employees will bear out Broots' allegation."

There was a quick knock on the door of the shack, and then Sam slipped through the door wearing a perspiration-dampened sweatshirt, pants and sneakers rather than his regular formal attire. He gave the impression of having just ducked in after having run laps – his cover for having found Debbie lurking on the grounds. "Hi there, Squirt," he greeted his soon-to-be-'captive' with a huge grin. "Long time, no checkers."

"Hi, Sam," she grinned back at him.

"Are you ready?" Sam aimed his question at Jarod.

"I'm just waiting on Broots, and his information as to exactly where Miss Parker is…" There was a noise in the ventilation ducts – the sounds of a very unhappy child. Jarod's answer was cut off as the Pretender bent immediately to the duct and reached in to pull out a six year old boy – followed very closely behind by Angelo, with Broots bringing up the rear.

"Lemme go!" the youngster yelled, battling against Jarod's strong hold on him. "Lemme go!"

"Stop now!" Angelo frowned at his young companion. "These are friends – make you safe now."

Meanwhile, Broots had homed in on his daughter and had grabbed her up into a tight hug. "Hi, Sweet Pea."

"I've missed you, Daddy," she murmured into his shirt.

"Who the Hell is THIS?" Sam grumbled at the empath – a man he still wasn't entirely sure he could trust completely not to be a madman ready to lead them down the path to disaster.

"My God!" Sydney gasped as he got a good look at the boy's face. "That's the Parker boy – Miss Parker's little brother!"

"You stay Sydney," Angelo was pointing at the old psychiatrist. "Wait here. Bring your sister."

"Sissy?" The boy frowned. "But I haven't seen her for ages – I was starting to think…"

Angelo shook his head. "Raines stop her. Make sad."

Jarod was finally able to let the youngster go as he stopped struggling. "Angelo…"

"Get all out now – before end," Angelo told his old friend with clear understanding of the situation. "We go now – get Daughter."

"She should be finishing up in the Sim Lab in about…" Broots tipped his wrist so he could look at his watch. "…an hour or so – and then will be escorted back to her space in the Renewal Wing. I've left all the documentation that the police need to find in the top drawer of my desk. All you have to do, Sweet Pea…"

"Is to make sure that the FBI guys hear about them when they come to my rescue – got it," Debbie nodded.

"Any idea of Parker's physical or emotional state?" Jarod asked brusquely.

"I spoke with the sweeper in charge of escort duty the other day," Sam piped up. "She's holding up – but they're putting her through a lot of stressful stuff in the Sim Lab that can't be good for either her OR the baby."

"Angelo made loop for cameras yesterday," Angelo tugged on Jarod's sleeve. "Ready to feed after back. Switch near grate."

Jarod took a moment to sort through his old friend's jumbled statement and then nodded. "Good thinking. How long a loop is it?"

"Ten – maybe fifteen minutes."

Jarod's gaze met that of his mentor's, and he began to smirk. "That should be more than enough time. We should be long gone by the time they notice she's missing – and with any luck, they'll be too busy to notice for a while after that as well."

"I thought Broots was going to call in to the police…" Sydney complained while putting a gentle hand on the strange youngster's shoulder to pull him closer and out of the way of the others. The lad looked up into the kindly, worried face and tensed slightly, but allowed the restraint.

"I will, the moment Debbie and Sam take off," Broots promised.

"OK, Squirt – now remember, you're supposed to be fighting me…" Sam reminded her sternly. "I've caught you messing around in the bushes here. So make it look good – and don't worry about hurting me."

"I can do that," Debbie grinned at him and then waved at Sydney. "See you soon," she promised. She blew a kiss at her father. "Love you, Daddy…"

"Love you too, Sweet Pea. I'll see you soon." Broots didn't sound a whole lot happier about the next few hours than Sydney had, but stood his ground, knowing it to be necessary.

"Debbie…" Sydney called gently, but didn't move as Sam whisked Debbie from the shack.

"That's my cue," Broots grumbled and slipped from the shack himself, heading for the underbrush and the extra car that would take him back into town to play the distraught father in his own house reporting someone had snatched his daughter.

"C'mon, Angelo," Jarod was pushing his friend back toward the ventilation duct. "No time to lose."

"Be careful!" Sydney called after his former student and the empath as both folded themselves and disappeared down the dark, metal tunnel once more. He snapped the grate closed and then found himself pinned by a pair of bright and wary grey eyes that seemed very familiar. "I guess I'm taking care of you for a while," he stated lamely, then grimaced at how much that reminded him of his initial greeting to Jarod, all those years ago. "What's your name?"

"They call me Master Parker," the lad replied coolly.

"What? No first name?" Sydney was appalled once more at the way the Centre branded its victims in such a way.

The boy's face folded into a frown. "What's a first name?"

Sydney sighed. He had a hunch that Miss Parker wasn't going to be the only one needing intensive therapy once this was all over.

oOoOo

"Here he comes," Sam whispered in Debbie's ear.

"Lemme go!" she screamed immediately and began to struggle against the hands that held her tightly. She squeaked when he lifted her bodily into the air, but then lashed out with her feet in an attempt to kick at his legs in order to make her struggle look all the more real. "Put me down, you big…"

"What have we got here?" Willy smiled coldly at the two of them. His face lit up as he recognized the girl in Sam's grasp, and he gazed up into the placid face with astonishment. "Do you know who you've managed to catch, Jerry?"

"No, sir," Sam answered in a flat voice, "Just that I found her skulking in the bushes while I was running my laps."

"We've been looking for you for a while, young lady," Willy told Debbie as he put a hand on the top of her head. He laughed when she tried to toss her head and get away from his touch. "Bring her. You'll have to explain how you found her, but I think Mr. Raines will be most pleased with you."

"You're the senior sweeper here, sir," Sam countered. "If she's that important, maybe it would look better if YOU brought her. I can come along and explain – no problem."

Willy eyed Sam cautiously, but quickly relaxed. There had always been a pecking order within the sweeper corps – and this move by 'Jerry' was a tried and true way of currying favor from a direct superior in order to move up the ranks. Visibly, to the rest of the Centre denizens, it would be HE who finally made the capture he'd been assigned – which was as it should be, given that it was HE that Mr. Raines had given the task, along with that do-nothing Lyle. That would score points for him – points that he would then be obliged to share to a certain extent with 'Jerry' in his next assignment. "Fine by me," he shrugged. "Give her here."

Debbie struggled harder, and the frantic efforts became more real as Willy's hands closed painfully tight around her upper arm. "You realize that I can just as easily put your lights out," he bent and whispered coldly into her ear. "Keep it up, and that's exactly what's going to happen."

Debbie shot a thoroughly terrified look at Sam, whose brief gaze showed sympathy and encouragement before shuttering into neutral disdain. With a chill, Debbie understood Sydney's vehement objections at last, and knew that this was no longer just a fun game. These people played for keeps – and she was now nothing more than a trophy.

oOoOo

"…a big guy, black, good looking and he dragged her into this big, black sedan," Broots was explaining to the police officer, hands flying before appearing to remember something. "I took down a partial license plate…" He patted his shirt breast pocket and dragged out a small scrap of paper with enough of the license plate numbers of one of the Centre sedans that tracing the car wouldn't take long. "I can't believe that he'd do such at thing in broad daylight!"

"And you're SURE that she didn't get into the car willingly?" the officer asked politely.

"She was kicking and screaming – no, she wasn't going willingly," Broots answered in the frustrated sarcasm of a frantic father. "Now – are you going to do something – or do I have to call in the FBI?"

"Just a moment," the officer urged restraint and walked back to his cruiser to radio in the report and a request for a license trace. Broots stood at the curb in front of his house, his arms folded and tapping his foot nervously. Getting the police to discover the Centre's supposed involvement, which would necessitate the involvement of the FBI was a critical point in the plan – and this was the make or break moment. His nervousness was no mere show – Debbie by now was in Willy's hands.

The police officer came back with a slightly pale face. "We've traced the car you say was involved, and we're calling in the FBI ourselves on this one," the officer reported. "We'll be in touch as soon as we know anything more."

"Please, hurry…" Broots urged with a voice near hysteria.

The officer climbed back into the squad car and peeled rubber taking off down the street. Broots stood at the curb and watched for a long moment before turning back to his house with drooping shoulders. It was done. Now came the hardest part: waiting.

oOoOo

Mr. Raines grimaced coldly at Debbie, still very much in Willy's custody. "You have been a very difficult person to track down, young lady," he wheezed at her, and then gasped as he pulled another breath. "You could make it easier on yourself by telling us…" he pulled on the oxygen tank once more with a choking gasp, "…where Sydney is."

"I don't know," Debbie answered defiantly, struggling slightly in Willy's grasp.

"That isn't the best answer," Willy scowled and tightened his hold on her until she yelped. Maybe a bruise or two would convince her…

The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Raines," the secretary began.

"I told you I didn't want to be disturbed!" Mr. Raines shouted back.

"There is a group of FBI agents wanting to speak to you about a kidnapping…"

"Help me! I'm in here!!" Debbie screamed at the top of her lungs, seeing her chance to do her part to bring the mess down about the ears of the man who was hurting her – and his boss, the one who had ordered all the bad things for Miss Parker and her father.

There was the sound of a scuffle outside the etched glass that matched the angered, stifled yells that Debbie was making while Willy's hand covered both her mouth and nose so that she couldn't breathe – but suddenly six men with guns broke through. "Let the girl go," one FBI agent demanded quietly of the tall sweeper, bringing his service revolver around to bear. "NOW!"

Debbie drew in a huge, labored breath into aching lungs as Willy's grasp on her arm and his hand over her face suddenly fell away. She then whimpered, "Sam," and scampered to the side of her friend.

"There's nobody by that name here," Mr. Raines wheezed triumphantly as he rose in outrage at the interruption, only to have the actions of the second sweeper steal his confidence with a few words.

"You're safe now, Squirt," Sam said, opening his arms and gathering Debbie to him protectively. "I'll take you home to your dad as soon as these agents say I can." He smiled coldly at Mr. Raines' stunned expression.

"They were telling me that they were going to do horrible things to me," Debbie began to cry as she spoke to the agent from the safety of Sam's arms. "They said they had this drug that would make me forget everything…"

The agent in charge turned to stare at a dumbstruck Mr. Raines. "Oh really?"

"Yeah," Debbie continued. "My dad said he'd found some things out and was going to blow the whistle on them about that and some other stuff – I think that's why they were taking me, to keep HIM quiet." She glared at Mr. Raines. "Daddy said that he had all he needed to turn them in somewhere on or in his desk…"

"Certainly you aren't going to believe the word of a teenager…" Willy began, only to have the agent in charge gesture to one of his subordinates to put the black sweeper in handcuffs.

"The story's easily enough to check out," the agent in charge remarked and pulled out a cell phone. He dialed a number that he took from a notebook and waited. "Mr. Broots, we have your daughter safe and sound… Yes, sir, she's fine. She's telling us a story about your having found… Yes…" The agent listened carefully, looked up once to stare sharply at Mr. Raines, and then noted more information in the notebook. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks. Yeah, we'll bring her back to you very soon, sir." He turned to another agent. "Take Phil and head to SubLevel 15, Room 12. There should be a desk in the corner, off and away from the rest – the documents we want will be in the upper right drawer."

"You don't have a warrant…" Mr. Raines began to growl.

"Actually," the agent in charge pulled out a folded sheath of paper, "I do. When my superiors in Washington found out what corporation I was investigating, they gave me carte blanche to investigate any hint of wrongdoing that I had presented to me. Seems there has been a steady stream of anonymous information about the Centre into the DC office for years – just nothing urgent enough to act upon until now" He handed the paper to the gaunt man behind the desk. "I think you'll find everything in order and legal." He turned to the agents. "Go – and report back if you find anything."

Mr. Raines sank back into his chair weakly. Just a glance at the warrant in his hand told him that the chances of the Centre escaping this raid unscathed were virtually nonexistent. And from the sounds of things, the agents in his office were but a small part of the army that had descended upon the Centre.

Debbie looked at the old man with satisfaction, and her gaze met and held his while his flinched away from hers. She snuggled closer under Sam's protective arm. Jarod had been right – it felt GOOD to know that justice would finally be done, and that she and her dad wouldn't have to live in fear of what could happen to them anymore.

oOoOo

The sounds of chaotic voices in the corridors was coming closer, and Angelo nudged Jarod. "Now," the little empath said and reached up to turn on the loop that would be fed to the surveillance monitor down the hallway at the security desk outside the Renewal Wing. Jarod gave the ventilation grate a gentle shove, and it fell open.

On the bed nearby came the sounds of stirring, and suddenly Parker's dark head raised up to watch two men emerge from the tiny space – one the odd little man from the day before, the other a tall and handsome man with dark hair and gentle, chocolate eyes. "Parker," the second man called to her gently and softly. "Are you awake?"

"Do I know you?" she responded, shrinking back from his hand held out to her.

"We've known each other since we were children," Jarod replied unhappily. "I'm Jarod." He'd hoped that seeing him would have been all she would have needed to trip over into the memory recall disorientation – but it looked like it was going to take more than that after all. She continued to look at him with a mixture of confusion and wariness that he remembered all too well feeling himself at one time.

"This Friend," Angelo introduced with a smile. "Here to take you to safe place. Come now."

"Are you my husband?" she asked next, rising from her bed in her Centre fatigues, still dressed from the tiring SIM. Without taking her eyes from the tall, handsome stranger, she slipped her feet into her rubber-soled slippers.

Jarod's eyes filled with tears as he realized the reason for her question – they had told her that she was carrying her husband's child. Of course she would have accepted her condition much easier if she thought she'd been married, widowed, and pregnant. "No," he answered and then took her hand carefully in his. "But we'll have plenty of time to talk things out later. We have to go NOW."

"In THERE?" she gaped, pointing at the air conditioning vent.

"That's right," Jarod told her. "It's perfectly safe – just follow me and do what I do."

"What about Greg and Fran – what will they think? They took care of me…" she hesitated. "What will Byron say?"

"They OK – you go now!" Angelo urged in a slightly more pressing tone. "MUST go now."

Parker gazed steadily into chocolate eyes that looked as if they were begging for her trust and could feel something deep inside her wanting to do just that. "All right," she relented and moved over to the vent. "What do I do?"

"I go first," Angelo said and proceeded to fold himself so that climbing into the vent looked easy. He moved back into the darkness and then called out. "Now you."

Parker mimicked the actions of the odd little man who had visited her the night before, and soon she too was in the dark, metal tunnel. Ahead of her, Angelo suddenly turned on a flashlight, and the beam bounced almost painfully inside the shining metal duct. "Follow." As he began down the tunnel and she began to move to follow him, she could hear Jarod climbing into the vent behind her and closing the grate. Knowing she had no choice now but to move in the direction they wanted her to go, Parker took a deep breath to calm herself and crept along the tunnel on her hands and knees, totally lost and disoriented now as the tunnel turned first this way and then that.

When Angelo slipped from sight ahead of her, and she found herself poking her head into a vertical shaft that seemed to have no top and no bottom, she gasped and shrank back. "You can do," she heard Angelo say, and poking her head out again, she saw that he was on a ladder to the side of the opening, up far enough that there was room for her to clamber out onto the ladder.

"We go up to ground level here," Jarod urged from behind her. "You can do it – you've done things like this before."

"You were with me when I did, I take it?" she asked as she carefully pulled her body from the opening and onto the ladder to begin the long climb.

"No, but another of our friends was – he said you were magnificent." Jarod could remember Broots telling of her climb out of the boiler shaft to the Centre lobby so many years ago.

"I don't remember," she sighed and kept moving one hand and foot over the other.

"You will eventually, I promise," Jarod stated reassuringly, not entirely sure now that he could keep the promise as soon as he had hoped. "I'm right behind you now."

The climb was arduous, and she was genuinely winded by the time she reached the top and could slip into another metal tunnel after Angelo. At this level, she could hear the sounds of chaotic voices again – many men shouting orders and others protesting those orders. "What's going on?" she asked, worried.

"Diversion," was all Angelo would say.

"Keep moving," Jarod urged from behind. "It isn't all that far now."

She continued crawling for several hundred yards more – much further than she would have classified as 'not all that far,' until all of a sudden she could see the end – and that Angelo was climbing through another vent opening into a room of some sort. With a sigh of relief – and a promise to herself NOT to do this very often – she pushed ahead and was grateful for the hands that reached in toward her and then helped her extricate herself.

"Parker!" Sydney growled gratefully and pulled her roughly into his arms. She was painfully thin – despite her pregnancy, she'd lost a considerable amount of weight – and was breathing harder than he'd ever seen her breathe before. "Thank God you're all right!"

Parker suffered the embrace with patience, figuring that maybe THIS older man who was clasping her so protectively to him was actual family to her. It had been so long since she had known the feeling of actually belonging somewhere. "Are you my father?" she asked plaintively when he put her back so he could look into her face again.

Sydney's face fell. "I wish I were," he admitted, and then hugged her tightly again. "It doesn't matter - you are the daughter I wish I'd had," he stated firmly, "and I've been worried sick about you."

It was better than nothing, and Parker allowed herself to relax into this older man's embrace gratefully. "I just want to belong somewhere," she murmured sadly.

"You belong with us," Jarod told her gently, and she could feel his hand on her shoulder as she lay against the older man.

"Sissy?" Parker wasn't allowed to relax for long before there was a tug on her sleeve. She looked down into intelligent grey eyes that looked up into hers longingly. "Sissy? Do you remember me?"

She glanced at the older man. "This is your little brother, Parker," Sydney explained quickly and simply. "We got him out too."

This was family – REAL family – for the first time in the little time she could remember. "Hey there, little man," she tried to smile bravely and opened her arms to the boy in much the same way the older man had opened his to her. "We're safe now," she told him and then gazed around her. "Right?"


	13. Letting the Dust Settle

Chapter 13 – Letting the Dust Settle

Parker stretched and rolled to her side, amazed that a mere mattress could make the difference between a restful night's sleep and twelve hours of tossing and turning. The morning sunlight was streaming in through the sheer curtains of Sydney's guestroom, making the act of waking up one of almost celebration. She settled back into her pillow, clutched the covers to her in the chill of the morning and enjoyed the fact that there was nobody standing over her, urging her to get up, eat, and get ready to go to work immediately.

And yet, as she lay there, she knew that life was going to be getting far more complicated for her in the near future. In the Centre, every aspect of her day had been regimented, scheduled, pre-determined by others – where now, SHE was solely responsible for making the decisions about what she would do, where she would go. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a bad thing except for the fact that she knew next to nothing about this huge world outside the cinderblock walls of the Centre sublevel that had been her home for months. What was even more remarkable – and frightening – was that there was a young child that was her only family that would be depending entirely on HER, and she had no idea whatsoever how she was going to manage that.

Her hand smoothed over her flat abdomen and the life that she knew instinctively was growing inside her. She didn't have the vaguest idea how she was going to be able to be a decent mother for her baby either. She couldn't remember what it was like to be a child or how her own mother had treated her, so she had no guide to behavior or attitudes. So much was riding on her shoulders now – the lives of two people at the very least depended on her. She had never felt quite so lost and alone, even as she took in a deep breath of air that was fresh from the outdoors and not dry or processed. Sydney and Jarod seemed very fond of her – or at least of the person she had once been, the person that had died when her memories had been stolen from her – and if they abandoned her because she couldn't live up to their expectations, or couldn't be brought to remember…

From beyond the closed wooden door of the bedroom, Parker could hear the sounds of voices as the rest of the household began to stir. If her ear wasn't mistaken, she could hear Sydney and Jarod conferring in the hallway about breakfast – and a high-pitched voice chimed in that must be her little brother, newly awake. He sounded a little scared too – with good reason. If what Sydney and Jarod said were true, he'd never seen the outside of the Centre for his entire life either – and if that thought scared and excited her, it must terrify HIM.

Parker sat up, pushed her covers away and reached with a shiver for the flannel robe Sydney had loaned her – and then started giggling when she discovered in pulling it on that the difference between his height and bulk and hers meant that she was going to swim in it. The comic relief moment had helped her mood, however; and she experimented to see just how far she'd have to wrap the robe around her before she wouldn't look like she was swimming in it – until she'd nearly doubled the robe around herself. Still chuckling, she pulled the belt tight around her and padded across the bedroom floor in her bare feet. When she pulled the door open and stepped out, she was met by three men with faces that dropped into very guilty expressions at the sight of her.

"I told you we'd wake her up," Sydney chided his former student.

"I was awake before then," she shook her head, smiling at Jarod to take him off the hook. "I was just laying there enjoying the fact that nobody was hanging over me making me do things for a change."

"Oh yeah," Jarod nodded understandingly. "I can remember waking up after my first night outside the Centre too. I almost didn't GET up that day."

She frowned. "You were stuck in the Centre too?" He seemed to be so comfortable in this big world! What else had she forgotten? Hadn't he told her that they'd been friends since childhood? How long had the Centre been a part of her life anyway?

"Jarod and Angelo in Centre," Angelo told her with a nod. "You too – just not like us."

"Sissy!" her little brother ran into her side and clung to her waist. "What am I going to do today if I don't have problems and studies?"

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted, dropping a hand to his shoulder and holding him to her. "Remember, I told you that I don't remember a lot of things – what we do when we don't have people telling us what to do is one of the big ones I've forgotten."

"Are we going to have to talk to the policemen again like yesterday?" the lad continued nervously. "They asked a lot of questions I didn't really understand… and I know what happens when I don't know the answers to questions…"

"I'm not sure…" Parker looked up into Sydney's face. "Are they going to want to talk to us some more?"

"I'm sure that if they have any more questions for you, they'll stop by – but that you don't have to sit around and wait just in case they think of something else to ask you," the older man replied in his musically accented voice. "You didn't do anything wrong – you have nothing to worry about from the police, either of you." Sydney smiled down at the little boy clinging to his sister. "I'm thinking of some very pleasant activities that you might want to consider for your first day in the real world."

Parker blinked at the strange reference, but the little boy seemed to respond to the very idea of doing something enjoyable. "What?" he coaxed.

"Well, there's a park right across the street that you might want to go play in," Sydney suggested with a gesture that indicated an invitation to begin moving downstairs. "It has lots of trees and grass…" He glanced at Jarod. "I'm thinking, maybe, a picnic lunch might not be a bad idea…"

Jarod smirked. "I think that sounds like a wonderful way to 'break the ice' of being free again, Parker," he told her confidently. "One of the things I couldn't get enough of when I was first out was fresh air and sunshine. And YOU…" he bent to poke the little boy gently in the chest, "…could use a chance to learn to run around and not have any walls to run into. Maybe I'll even show you how to climb trees." He glanced at Angelo. "You too."

The boy gazed up into his sister's face hopefully. "Do you think I can?" he asked eagerly. "I've never seen REAL trees up close – just the ones in movies and when we were driving here yesterday…"

Parker caught the look that Jarod and Sydney exchanged – and marveled at the sadness in it. "Tell you what – since that's what Jarod and Sydney want to do today, why don't we let them make our plans for us?"

"Right now I think our plans include getting ourselves a good breakfast," Sydney once more gestured to get the group moving toward the stairs. "I don't know about any of you, but I could use my morning cup of coffee."

"Coffee?" Parker's brow furled again. "Do I like coffee?"

"You used to," Sydney told her with a hand on her shoulder to guide her towards the stairs, opting for honesty at that moment, "although you have an ulcer that would probably appreciate it if you didn't drink quite so much of it…" He thought for a moment. "How about I let you taste mine, and you can decide for yourself?"

Parker nodded and moved forward toward the stairs obediently, tossing Sydney's idea around in her mind. Deciding for herself what she did and didn't like – what she did or didn't want to do – sounded like a reasonable plan for dealing with questions about her former self. The present moment was all she had – and reconstructing a sense of self would be best done on HER terms, not on terms dictated by someone who wasn't around anymore.

oOoOo

"What do you mean, you won't do it?" Raines' wheezing grew worse as his stress levels were climbing through the roof. He would rather have been seated, but instead was standing at the pay phone at the end of the cell block that had been his accommodations the night before. What was more, his hope for getting out of this dank and dreary place and back to his comfortable apartment was fading fast.

"I mean," Charles Hazelton's smooth voice came back to him over the telephone receiver, "that there is nobody at the Centre currently empowered to retain me for your defense at Centre expense."

"What about Lyle? He's officially second in command…"

Hazelton cleared his throat. "Mr. Lyle has his own legal worries to contend with. It seems that evidence and information has been turned over to the FBI pertaining to several murder cases in a number of states over the past few years, and he has been arrested as well. I just turned down representing HIM for the same reason I have to turn you down: the Centre has nobody authorized to write the checks at the moment."

"Miss Parker…" Raines began and then wilted back in his chair. Miss Parker couldn't even remember her own name – and it was he who had put her in that position. In typical Centre fashion, nobody else had ever been allowed close enough to the 'throne' to qualify as a signatory on a Centre account, much less given enough authority to qualify as a temporary replacement in time to get him out of here. No, there would be no looking for help from Centre forthcoming whatsoever – and it was ultimately HIS fault that there wouldn't be.

"I'd advise you to accept a public defender as soon as possible," Hazelton told the man who had once held the reins of power beyond his imagination. "From the looks of the evidence against you, you'll need all the help you can get."

"The Centre used to have an entire legal team," Raines wheezed painfully again. "They can't all have vanished…"

"Considering the information that has been made available to the news media, frankly there are a lot of people who would prefer to keep their professional connections to the Centre quiet," Hazelton commented dryly, "myself included, as a matter of fact. It's entirely likely that the only chance you'll have of receiving a fair trial will be for a change of venue to some rural part of the country that doesn't have much by way of television coverage – because that's probably the only place you'll be able to get a lawyer who'll be willing to defend you."

"This is just a temporary setback," Raines complained.

Hazelton coughed to hide his gasp of surprise. "With all due respect, Mr. Raines, I think, considering the circumstance, you'll need to reassess your definition of the word 'temporary' very soon." He cleared his throat again. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have other pressing matters that I need to attend to…"

"Don't you dare hang up on me," Raines shouted in outrage and then gasped in a breath of oxygen noisily. "I own you, you slime. You work for me…"

"Not anymore." And with relish, Charles Hazelton hung up the phone on his former client and patted himself on the back at the neat way he'd extricated himself from what could have been a very embarrassing situation. He felt sorry for whatever poor slob from the Public Defender's office or Legal Aid got handed this case, because the evidence against Raines and the rest of the people now under lock and key was overwhelming.

oOoOo

It was almost like a dream. Parker closed her eyes, leaned back on both her hands and focused all her attention on the way the gentle spring breeze lifted her hair away from her face with a soft touch that brushed past cheeks and nose. The picnic had been a success as far as little brother was concerned – with Jarod around to teach him how to play on the equipment, he was soon whooping and laughing and running as if he'd never tried such a thing before. The satisfied, goofy grin she'd caught from Jarod told the story – he was remembering his own first day of freedom and helping the boy get a good memory of HIS first day of freedom to hang onto.

Not long after breakfast, Jarod had vanished only to return about an hour later with a couple of bags of clothing he claimed to have fetched from her house. He handed her the bags and invited her to take them back upstairs to the guest room and unpack. When she did, she discovered that the person she'd been before had indulged in expensive tastes when it came to clothing. Accustomed now to the soft cotton of the olive drab shirt and blouse and serviceable cotton undergarments that the Centre had provided, the feel of lace and silk made her uncomfortable. What would she do if she suddenly regained her memories only to discover that she herself had ruined her own nice things? What was more, she had evidently lost a considerable amount of weight, for some of the clothes just hung on her frame like expensive, oversized sacks.

She'd brought her worries back down the stairs – and Sydney had simply bundled both her and her little brother and Angelo into his comfortable car and driven them all to a department store. By the time he'd brought them back to his house again, all the refugees had minimal wardrobes of low-cost and low-maintenance fabrics. Parker had immediately headed upstairs to don a light-weight cotton shift-dress after overseeing her little brother into jeans, a wildly colorful tee shirt and new sneakers. Angelo reappeared after a few minutes in the bathroom in a western snap-down shirt and jeans, grinning from ear to ear – and had immediately taken his old Centre drabs and tossed them pointedly into the fireplace. "Sydney burn?"

Sydney had chuckled. "Tonight, Angelo, I promise."

The picnic itself had been an experience. Sydney and Jarod had clucked together as they compiled sandwiches and drinks and packed them carefully in an old basket brought out of the garage, covered by a blanket dragged from the linen closet. Then, with Jarod holding the little boy by the hand and Sydney placing Parker's hand in the bend of his arm, they marched across the street and into lush grass and fresh-leafed trees.

The first thing that happened – almost before Parker could say a word – was that brand-new sneakers and socks had been hastily removed, and a little boy had experienced the sensation of walking across green grass with his bare feet for the first time. Without missing a beat, Angelo shed his shoes and socks as well, and then danced across the green with arms spread wide in the sunshine, humming to himself. Sydney had watched Parker watch her little brother and Angelo a little jealously and then quietly slip her own foot out of her sandal and test the sensation of grass against the soles of her feet too. When she'd looked back up at him, startled at the prickly-soft beneath her feet and the way the blades insisted their way between her toes, she found him smiling at her with just a touch of sadness.

Now, with sandwiches eaten and fruit juice drunk and a little boy back at the swing sets squealing with happiness every time Jarod gave him a shove that sent him flying higher while Angelo swayed gently at his side, Parker was hard-put to remember a time when she'd been so happy. THIS was freedom.

And yet…

"What if I never remember," she worried at Sydney, who sat off to the side observing her patiently, quietly, not intruding on her thoughts without invitation.

"We haven't really started to work at trying to help you remember yet," came the response. "Don't worry about crossing that bridge until..."

"But I'm already there," she insisted, sitting up straighter again and tipping her head so she could look at her companion. "I keep bumping into the back of the person I used to be every time I turn around. Do I like coffee? What kind of clothes do I want to wear?" She shook her head, remembering the grimace of distaste at the sip of hot liquid Sydney had given her that morning. "I don't think she and I are very much alike at all."

Sydney's graying brows rose slightly. "That's been known to happen among amnesia victims. It's completely normal, Parker."

"But SHE'S the one you and Jarod are fond of – not me." Parker stated the fact with quiet firmness. "I know this."

"I have been very fond of you for a very long time," Sydney admitted, "but I must admit that there have been times that I didn't like the way you behaved or how you treated me and others very much. When I look at you now – the way you are now…" He sighed. "I see the kind of person you might have turned out to be, had it not been for the way you were raised. If anything, I feel closer to you now than ever."

"Was I a bad person, then?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," he replied slowly, "just a very damaged and defensive one. You've had many tragic things happen to you – things that had made you bitter and hard in some ways." He glanced over at Jarod, knowing that they had discussed finding a good time and place to begin the nudging at mental barriers. "For example, you were nearby when your mother committed suicide in a Centre elevator – this happened when you were eleven."

Parker's eyes widened, remembering that hole in the top of the elevator car that she and Greg had been commenting on only a day or so earlier. "That was my mother?"

Sydney nodded. "You were heartbroken – you were an only child, and you loved your mother very much." He watched her face carefully, but the nudge had accomplished nothing. Despite bringing up one of the strongest and most painful topics he could think of, Parker's memory remained locked away tightly.

"But my father – he took care of me, right?" she asked in concern.

"Your father was always more interested in the welfare of the Centre than in yours," he told her, voicing criticism he'd held secretly within for far too long. "And when I or others would have helped you – given you emotional support – he sent you away to boarding school."

"But…" Parker's eyes will filled with confusion. "You said…"

"There was a space of time, between when your mother left you and when you were sent away, that you spent a great deal of time in and around the Sim Lab where I was working with Jarod. You and he and Angelo became fast friends – and I quietly gave you three the time and the space to be children for the time you were together. You started to come to me with your problems and we talked long talks while you'd be waiting for your father to pick you up to go home." His face softened as he remembered.

"Who was my father?"

Sydney's face hardened. "He was the Chairman of the Centre – the top man. He ran the place – he was my boss, and Mr. Raines' boss."

"Where is he now?"

Sydney watched her face carefully. "You were on an airplane together – he opened the door and stepped out into the storm. They never found his body." Once more, the nudge toward a strong emotional moment had no effect whatsoever.

"Did I ever have a husband at one time?" Parker asked softly, thinking of the vague face that came often to her mind when she tried to remember the husband they'd told her she'd lost – and of the gentle arms that sometimes held her in her dreams.

"No," Sydney shook his head, "but you came close. You were in love with a man named Thomas Gates – he was murdered." Again her face stayed merely troubled – she exhibited no signs of the mental and physical upheaval that accompanied memories returning en masse.

"Is this his child, then?"

"Thomas died years ago, Parker. No, the child you carry is Jarod's."

She turned and stared at him. "Jarod's?"

"They captured him about the same time they took you – they stole his memories too. And while they had control of him, they stole his… genetic material… in order to make you pregnant. You carry the genes that make you the same kind of genius that Jarod is – and they were training you as I had trained Jarod years ago, remember?" He watched her nod, eyes wide and almost startled. "I suspect they kept you unconscious only until they could be sure that you WERE pregnant, and then awakened you with the story of the car accident and a dead husband to explain the baby. It was likely that they intended to take the baby away from you after it was born on the suspicion or assumption that it would be what they called a 'Super Pretender' who would be a genius like its father and have the psychic talents of the mother."

"So Jarod and I… we've never…?" Parker blushed.

Sydney shook his head. "No, not to my knowledge – although you've been much fonder of him than you've wanted to admit, and he's never made any bones about his caring about you."

Something Sydney said suddenly registered. "What did you mean by 'the psychic talents of the mother'?"

"I meant that, like your mother before you, you are – or were – able to hear the voices." Sydney looked away. "You asked me to help you learn to listen and understand better – but then stopped those lessons rather abruptly a few years ago."

"Voices?" Now she was confused. "Whose voices?"

"Your mother's, for one," he replied easily. "As for the others, you'd have to ask your half-brother Ethan. He has your mother's gift too."

"I have a half-brother?" The fine, dark brows arched high. "I thought this little one was my only family." She pointed to the little boy on the swing.

"You and Jarod share a half-brother," Sydney told her, knowing that much of what he'd been saying was entirely fantastic. "Ethan is the result of what happened the LAST time they tried to get their Super Pretender – only that time, they used your mother and Jarod's father as the biological parents."

"Where is… Ethan?"

Sydney nodded toward the play equipment. "For the answer to that one, you'll have to ask Jarod. Ethan has been with his family for several years now – they've been keeping him safe from Mr. Raines and anyone who would try to manipulate him."

Parker turned and watched the two playing on the swings again. "I don't remember," she murmured softly. "All of this, and I don't remember a thing. Of course, from some of what you've said – and what you haven't said, I'm not exactly sure remembering is all it's cracked up to be…"

Sydney's hand landed gently and comfortingly on her shoulder, despite his disappointment. "Despite the way in which the drug has interfered with your memories, the truth is that amnesia is rarely permanent – and the chances of this fugue of yours lasting for the rest of your life is fairly small. Besides, the duration of the effect of the drug you were given was never fully investigated – nor do we still have a full accounting of how much of the drug you were given or how often it was administered. For now, we'll keep trying to nudge loose the memories – and one day we'll trip over the key, probably when we least expect it. Until then, we'll just keep on taking things one day at a time."

She nodded. It was all she COULD do.

Sydney sighed silently. He'd have to tell Jarod that Parker's amnesia was taking a different form that that of the men. Perhaps it had to do with her being female – or perhaps being female AND pregnant – perhaps it had to do with the frequency and amount of the dosage she was given that was different than what the others had received. He frowned. There was just too much about this that wasn't known yet – the only thing he DID know was that getting Parker to remember wasn't going to be as much of a cakewalk as the others.

oOoOo

"Hi, Miss Parker," Debbie called out into the house as she and her father stepped through the door. The tall brunette rose to her feet with a slightly confused look on her face.

Parker turned to Sydney. "I thought my name was Parker," she complained.

"Parker is your last name," the old psychiatrist explained, "although Jarod and I and your brother Lyle have generally called you Parker."

"She still doesn't remember?" Debbie asked, her face falling.

"Debbie," her father chided. "We weren't all lucky enough to have strong memory links close-by to kick us back into shape mentally." He looked around. "Isn't Sam here yet?"

"He called," Jarod stated, walking out from the kitchen. "He said he'd be here a few minutes late."

"What's my first name?" Parker leaned toward Sydney.

He shook his head. "You never told me. Jarod knows, though…" Parker turned and gazed at Jarod – he held so many of her answers, and had yet to offer any of them without prodding. As if reading her mind, Sydney bent toward her this time. "We didn't want to overload you with information just to see what will work because we knew that the experience of memories returning is overwhelming by itself. We didn't want to compound that with upset and distress over things you couldn't' remember beforehand We had originally hoped that seeing me – or seeing Jarod – would have done the trick, but it didn't. And now that we've even mentioned some of the strongest memories and topics without any reaction from you, we're both a little at a loss as to what to do."

"You don't think hearing my own name wouldn't do it?" she asked in surprise.

"You never used the name in all the years I've known you, Parker," he replied honestly. "For all I know, there's no attachment to it at all for you."

Broots noticed the intense discussion going on in the corner and made his way to them even as a heavy knock on the door announced Sam's arrival. "Everything OK, Miss P?"

"Just fine," she replied with a slightly sarcastic tone. "Just trying to figure out my place in the scheme of things."

"Miss Parker." The voice of the sweeper was soft, but it held such an amount of respect that Parker turned to it immediately. Sam's blue eyes washed over her and caught on the fact that her gaze showed no recognition at all. "They must have done you differently than the rest of us."

"Must have," she replied, sarcastic tone still in place. She raised her voice. "Will somebody PLEASE tell me what my first name is?"

Broots backed away with surprise, and even Sam seemed taken aback. Jarod, however, merely shook his head. "I'll tell you privately later," he promised, "but I think that maintaining everyone calling you either Parker or Miss Parker will make it easier once your memory DOES come back."

"What about mine? What about MY first name?" Parker's little brother piped up from where he'd curled on the sofa into Angelo's side to stay out of the way of the other adults in the room. "I haven't even got one!"

Sydney smiled and went over to sit down by the boy. "We have many things to talk about this evening," he said, putting a gentle arm around the small shoulders, "and I think this might be a good place to start." He looked around the room, and everybody seemed willing to settle down into seats around the room. "Anybody got any suggestions for a name for this young man?"

oOoOo

Parker stared at the lawyer. "But I don't know anything about all this!"

"It really doesn't matter. We need someone who can be responsible for handling Centre affairs, Miss Parker," the distinguished-looking man with the silver fringe and goatee replied, pulling the papers back across the kitchen table. "As you are the only member of the Parker family old enough to be responsible, it falls to you to take care of…"

A shudder went through Parker from head to toe – and she could think of no good reason for it except that she just *knew* she didn't want anything to do with owning or running the organization that had stolen her life and her memories from her. "I don't want it," she announced flatly. "Talk to somebody else."

"Fine," the lawyer responded with his calm façade only slightly marred by the intransigence of the nominal Chairman of the Centre, "then perhaps you'd like to appoint someone to act in your name?"

Parker rose to her feet and went to the sink to get herself a glass of water as a way of disguising how upsetting the entire idea was to her. "I'll think about it," was all she said.

The lawyer gazed at her for a long moment, and then realized that he'd gotten about as far with her that day as he was going to. "I'll be in touch in a couple of days to hear your decision," he sighed, filing paperwork back into his valise that he'd hoped to get taken care of immediately. "Please don't take too long in making up your mind – these matters are pressing and won't wait, and those doing the pressing aren't going to give a damn about whether you do or don't remember anything."

Parker whirled, storm-grey eyes snapping. "Get out!" she demanded in a soft voice, her finger pointing to the front of the house and the door. "I told you I'd think about it – but that's about as far as I'm going today. I will NOT be pushed, no matter how 'pressing' any of those papers were." The two of them glared at each other for a moment, then, "GET OUT!" she ordered with a touch of panic.

Sydney had risen from his reading in his den and come to the kitchen at the sound of Parker's voice being raised, and he looked at the tall brunette with concern. "Parker? Is anything wrong?"

The lawyer gave the psychiatrist a withering glare. "I'm just leaving," he announced regally, and then glared back at Parker for a last time. "Don't forget," he warned. "I can't hold off all these lawsuits for long – and they'll be coming after you whether you like it or not, mark my words." He turned on his heel before Parker could do more than just open her mouth.

"Parker?" Sydney stepped closer.

As much as she wanted to run to and dive into a sheltering embrace and stay there for the rest of her life, something was driving her to stand tall. "They want me to go in and take over," she gave a quasi-hysterical chuckle and shook her head. "They – the lawyers – want someone they can talk to at the Centre – and they've decided that person has to be ME. ME – and I can't remember a damned thing…"

"Sit down," Sydney soothed and led her by the arm to the table again. "This kind of stress isn't good for you or the baby."

"I feel like I'm in a huge SIM." She put her head in her hands the moment she was seated and leaned her elbows on the table. "I have all the information I'm going to get, and Bryon is telling me that I can't quit – that somehow I have to fly this damned… Centre… just because my last name is Parker… Only this time, it ISN'T a SIM – it's real!"

Jarod came into the kitchen, using his thumb to point over his shoulder at the front of the house. "I just about got run over by a suit," he quipped – and then saw the expression on Parker's face. "What's going on?"

"It isn't taking long for the lawsuits to start," Sydney explained in the few words it would take to get the Pretender to understand the situation entirely. "She's the only Parker left."

Parker looked up at the two men on whom she'd been forced to learn to rely over the last few days. Neither had abandoned her as her memory continued stubbornly to resist all efforts of being nudged back into operation – and both had remained solidly supportive of whatever decisions she'd made. "What am I going to do?" she asked plaintively. "

"Appoint a representative and let THEM handle the mess," Jarod suggested casually and headed for the refrigerator and dug in the freezer for the box of ice cream. "Go to a notary public and appoint someone your official legal representative and let THEM have at it. Keep your sanity – the Centre ain't worth losing sleep over, trust me!"

"I would, but the only people I could trust to do it right are either you or Sydney," she pointed out in a simple statement that shocked both me. "So maybe you can tell me which one of you wants the job?"

Jarod and Sydney stared at each other, and then Jarod's eyes grew wide as he realized the only logical answer to her question. Sydney was now deep into the research that had created Formula 837A, trying in the company of a Centre biochemist colleague to unravel what made it work and how to counteract its effects for Parker. Dr. Morrison, the original creator of the formula, had been transferred BACK to the Renewal Wing, where Sydney could care for her more directly and oversee her anticipated recovery – and this task, combined with the research, consumed the old psychiatrist's every thought at the moment when he wasn't at home.

But HE, Jarod, was the one with the experience of being a lawyer – temporarily – and a corporate executive – temporarily. Only he had what it would take to handle representing Parker responsibly. "What a helluva Pretend that will be," he commented dryly, "I get to be a Parker and sit in the Tower directing traffic." He sighed. "I guess I'd better call my folks and tell them I won't be coming back to California anytime soon after all."

"You were going to do that anyway," Sydney reminded him chidingly. "Didn't you tell me you didn't want to go anywhere until at least after the baby came anyway?"

Parker's gaze darted to Jarod's face, and he nodded. "All the more reason for me to do this Pretend to be the Centre Chairman," he remarked thoughtfully. "I'm protecting the future of my son or daughter."

"Daughter," Parker replied absently, too pleased to be out from under such an onerous task to notice much. "That's what they told me…"

Jarod glanced at Sydney, a smile slowly growing. "A daughter," he repeated to himself. Suddenly, sitting in the Chairman's office taking care of all the inevitable lawsuits that would eventually cripple and destroy the Centre piecemeal didn't seem all that bad. He could view THAT as his ultimate payback on the place and people who had taken so much from him and those he loved – and maybe be finally able to stop looking for ways to balance the scales. "OK, Parker," he said, literally and figuratively. "Let's get this mess taken care of and be done with it."


	14. Epilogue

Chapter 14 – Epilogue

Parker sat in the shade of the back porch, rocking slowly as she watched over six year old Jonathan's play with other neighborhood children. All five of the children were pleased and excited that Sam and Jarod had finished construction on the tree house – and right now, all five of them were lined up at the very edge of the platform with feet dangling in mid-air, laughing and telling stories. Her hand automatically fell to the tight and massive mound that was her stomach and her unborn daughter, smoothing where the baby had landed a particularly strong kick immediately beneath a right rib. One day, she promised her baby, one day you'll be up there with the rest of them.

For the past five months, life had been relatively quiet and uneventful for her – which she'd decided wasn't such a bad way to live. At first she'd spent a few days with Sydney who, along with Jarod, had spent most of the waking hours of those days vainly attempted to find something that would trip her memories into returning. But she had eventually convinced both the psychiatrist and Jarod to let her return to what they told her was her own home. Into this summerhouse – her new-old home – she brought her little brother, who had settled on the name Jonathan that second evening away from the Centre, and settled down to make a home for them both.

It had felt strange that very first day, walking through a house that she knew was hers – because she'd been told so by those whose word she trusted – and yet not recognizing a single feature of the place. She'd opened up the closet in the master bedroom and spent the first few hours of her residency packing away the expensive silk and leather wardrobe and collection of stilettos to make room for her comfortable cottons and collection of flats and sandals. The liquor cabinet had been emptied and now held a sizeable and eclectic collection of music CDs that she'd listen to over the course of a day, depending on her mood. Cookbooks occupied once-vacant space on her kitchen cabinets, and her fridge had fresh fruits and vegetables with which to concoct nutritious and tasty meals for herself, her brother and whoever might be visiting on any day of the week. Rare were the meals when there were just two at her table – or that the two of them weren't elsewhere.

Whatever or whoever she'd been in her former life, she wasn't that person now. All that mattered to her, as she slowly began to reconcile herself to the possibility of never regaining her memories at all, was that she was happy NOW. And with Jarod and Sydney making it their business to make sure she was, and with Sam and Angelo and the Broots' right in there helping out, there wasn't much to worry about on that score.

The others had protected her from most of the aftermath of the raid on the Centre – although she'd been required to give a deposition as to what she had been told about her so-called 'accident' and her subsequent treatment, as well as given testimony at trial. Something told her, however, that Jarod's and Sydney's testimony – which she hadn't heard – had been far more complete and damning. Neither of them would discuss the details of the case with her. She found out eventually from Debbie that the man in charge – the man who'd presented himself to her as a psychiatrist named Raines – the man against whom she'd testified – had been sent to prison for life as the result of the many things he'd ordered done, both to her and to others.

In the end, it was astonishing that so many of the people who'd been around her during her stay in the Renewal Wing had ended up paying for their part in it in one way or another. She'd been shocked to hear that the man who had stood over her and told her that he was going to take care of her for a while had turned out to be a brutal serial killer – as well as her twin brother. His fate had been determined only a month earlier, this time with Jarod supplying evidence to the police beforehand as well as testimony during the trial, and now he occupied a cell in a maximum-security facility waiting for his execution date. His case, with all the lurid details of sexual perversion and cannibalism, had become nationally infamous, and lately had been often cited by death-penalty proponents to justify the ethics of demanding the ultimate price for the most heinous of crimes.

Bryon, her trainer, had been stripped of his license to practice psychiatry in the state of Delaware for his part in her mistreatment and had vanished not long afterward. Dr. Abrams had also had his license to practice medicine taken away just before he'd been convicted on several counts of battery for his part in drugging Dr. Morrison, Sam, Broots, Jarod and her – as well as for sexual battery in making her pregnant without her consent. He was now serving a lengthy prison sentence that would see him near retirement age before he'd see daylight again. Dr. Chavez had had his license to practice medicine suspended for two years for his part – his punishment the lighter for not having been complicit in sexual battery while still performing technically risky procedures without informing her of the risks involved.

Greg, her escort sweeper, had been one of many who had merely done as they were told without actually breaking any laws and who had been released without indictment. He'd tried to contact her more than once immediately following his exoneration – but between Sam's stoic determination and Jarod and Sydney's protectiveness, was never allowed to get close enough to speak to her. Eventually he had given up and vanished too.

As he'd agreed to do, Jarod now spent much of his time representing her in overseeing the dismantling and sale of Centre assets, making sure that the money went into properly established trust funds set up to either pay off lawsuit awards or to support the victims of decades of medical, emotional and psychological abuse and downright torture. Parker was shocked to discover her name on one of those accounts, and flabbergasted when she was told how much money actually was in the account. The interest alone would be enough to give her a comfortable income without ever having to worry about working outside the home again. Her little brother and unborn baby had similar accounts – but by then, Parker didn't even want to know the particulars. She filed the passbooks in a safety deposit box, determined to hand them over to each child when he or she turned of age, and simply let them accrue the interest until then.

Sydney, too, had eventually returned to the Centre to work with some of those the Centre had abused – evaluating their fitness to return to society after sometimes periods of long incarceration there or, if the damage was too severe, recommending institutions where their continuing care could be assured. However, one of the most disappointing failures the old Belgian had suffered professionally over the last few months was the need to transfer Dr. Morrison to an assisted living facility. The biochemist had never regained her memories either – although Sydney wondered whether the head injury she had suffered in her 'accident' had meant that not only was her memory damaged, but that she would never regain her ability to live independently again either.

The first few weeks outside the Centre had required Parker to make several major adjustments to her life in order to begin to fit into a life she couldn't remember. Discovering that her child was NOT that of a recently-deceased husband, but actually Jarod's, had taken some time to get used to – as well as required her to take early stock of the man who was her child's father. That he cared a great deal for her was obvious – that he was unwilling to take advantage of a woman who couldn't remember a life-long friendship had been equally obvious. He hovered over her like any other expectant father probably would when he was with her – and they spent plenty of time together thinking about names for their daughter and making plans for her. He had stepped very willingly into the position of dominant male role model for Jonathan, and now the little boy emulated him at ever turn – even to the point of attempting Jarod's trademark smirk, which the boy managed with a great degree of accuracy.

But most of all, she suspected that he'd set himself the task of becoming her friend all over again – and the plan had worked. Those who had gone out of their way to rescue her had all become at the very least good friends – but her relationship with Jarod bordered on the extraordinary. Jarod had a very silly streak that would manifest itself in many ways – ways that she would expect more of a child of ten than from a grown man. He had a dry sense of humor, and seemed to get great enjoyment from pestering and teasing her – although never letting the teasing become overly annoying. He also had incredibly dark moments when he'd abruptly excuse himself and vanish from her life for a day or two, coming back only when he'd regained his emotional equilibrium. Parker suspected that these moods came from the fact that he still missed the friend he'd had in the person she'd once been – and she couldn't blame him for that.

Lately he had begun to give her a hug before heading back to his apartment after supper each night, and she was starting to wonder if throwing in her lot with his wouldn't be such a bad idea. She could love him – she already was very fond of him – and she was beginning to suspect that he'd been in love with her, at least, with the person she'd been before. Maybe, once the baby was born, where their relationship was headed would be a topic of discussion they'd finally let happen between them. It was either that or give him a kiss during that hug – and then see where that led.

In Sydney, she found she had a father figure more than willing and eager to play the part he said had been denied him so long. He was protective and supportive and ever ready to listen to anything she had to say, regardless of topic. Any sense of balance she'd developed in regards to forming relationships with people who knew her better than she knew them was because of his patient ear and simple wisdom and sense of practicality. His love for her was deep and unconditional, apparently completely independent of whether she remembered him or not – and she found that level of emotional support and fondness comforting, refreshing and enjoyable. In time, Sydney had come to accept a more grandfatherly role in little Jonathan's life too, and the little boy blossomed with the kind of loving attention that he'd apparently never had before in his life.

Angelo had moved into Sydney's home with him, although from the beginning he would spend the day with her when Sydney was called to the Centre for more than a few hours at a time. Angelo was quiet, unobtrusive, and sometimes anticipated her needs before she'd get a chance to voice them in a way that, if she thought about it, she would have found downright spooky. Even now, as she sat watching the children playing in the tree house, Angelo was seated on the porch step only a short distance away, twirling a dandelion between his fingers and lost in the contemplation of the flower. His utterances were still short, often disjointed and sometimes downright confusing but never without reason or wisdom of their own buried inside.

Sam was a frequent guest in her house – a self-appointed guardian who spent his time taking care of odd jobs and general home maintenance when Jarod was wrapped up with complex Centre wranglings. He very quickly became an 'Uncle Sam' to Jonathan, and as Parker got used to him and began to tease him carefully, began treating her as if she were his little sister. He too had a dry wit and a ready laugh about him, and a sense of humor that was perfectly capable of keeping her in stitches. The tree house had been his idea – and he and Jarod had pooled their time and resources to get it designed and built in time for the children to enjoy it properly before having to head back to school in the fall.

The Broots family had simply adopted her and her little brother – and the time she spent in their house was almost as much as the time they spent in hers. Broots was like a little brother to her, not quite a nuisance sometimes but still loving and supportive. Debbie, on the other hand, appointed herself a built-in babysitter for when the baby was born and Parker wanted to get away for a bit. As time passed and her due date grew closer, the two women had grown very close.

Many were the times that the tightly-knit group of friends would gather around a table and spin stories about long-ago times at the Centre, with former adversaries now chuckling appreciatively at the accomplishments of the competition. But not one of them – not Jarod nor Sydney nor Broots nor Sam nor even Parker herself – wanted to talk

about the time she'd spent in the Renewal Wing and Byron's Sim Lab, especially lately. The doctor had told her that she was virtually ready to have the baby any day now – although technically her due date had been set for a date two weeks in the future. The men in her life who hovered over her and pampered her shamelessly had made it their business to keep her comfortable and upbeat in the time remaining before the baby came.

Beside her, Angelo shifted and stretched. "Going in," he said and rose to his feet. "Too hot today." He extended his hand, offering the dandelion to her.

"Thank you," she told him with a smile. Angelo was a sweet soul – she couldn't conceive of anybody ever doing anything deliberately to harm him, even though Jarod and Sydney had assured her that several of the people in the Centre would have done just that without a second thought. "Sydney's running late today, isn't he?"

"Sydney's work almost done," Angelo replied with a tip of the head. "Wants to stay close for the baby."

Parker smiled. "Somehow, I think this little girl will never lack for someone to watch over her."

"Daughter special," Angelo nodded in his wise way.

"She'll be special how?" This was the best conversation Parker had had with Angelo in weeks.

"Special because YOU special," he replied with a knowing look. "Real you just lost. Come back soon."

Parker leaned back in her chair and executed a move that she, in a fit of sarcasm that had felt amazing comfortable, had begun to call 'Blimp Rising' – pushing herself from the chair and getting to her feet belly first. "I hate to tell you this, but I don't think I'm going to get unlost anytime soon, Angelo," she commented and stuck the dandelion behind her ear so that it was a bright yellow dot in the middle of sleek dark hair. She twisted and modeled the flower. "What do you think?"

"Sydney back," Angelo answered instead and scampered through the kitchen door on his way to the front of the summerhouse. Now that he mentioned it, Parker could finally hear the sounds of the car motor coming closer and then abruptly shutting down. By the time she'd maneuvered her bulk through the kitchen door, she could hear Sydney's musical voice answering the empath.

"You stayed quite a while today," Parker remarked as she headed for the refrigerator to give him a glass of fruit juice – her way of welcoming him back from the Centre.

"It was my last day," Sydney told her, stepping closer to drop a kiss on her cheek and give her a quick, tight hug of the shoulders. "Once I was finished with my last appointment, I had an office full of forty years of collected stuff to sort through before I could leave."

"You didn't tell me you were quitting…"

"It's a luxury that I have now that I don't intend to squander," he replied, accepting the glass from her. "I never thought that I'd ever escape that damned Sim Lab with my skin intact. Now that I have the chance, I'm not going to blow it!"

"And just what do you intend to do with your more-than-ample free time now?" she teased him gently as she replaced the pitcher of fruit juice.

He waited until she'd shut the refrigerator door to put directing hands on her shoulders and steer her to a kitchen chair. "Make sure that you don't have that baby here on the kitchen floor because nobody's around to drive you into Dover to the hospital, for one thing," he told her. "Jarod and I've discussed it – from now on, someone with wheels needs to be on call at all times."

"I've still got two weeks…" she began to complain, only to have him shake his head at her and still the rest of the comment unspoken.

"Babies don't always follow the schedules adults set out for them – especially when it comes to the day and time they decide they're ready to be born," he grinned at her. "I'm not taking any chances with my granddaughter."

"You, my friend, are nothing but a big softie," Parker announced and bent forward as much as she could to kiss his cheek.

"Far from it," he retorted with a pleased smile. "Nicholas and his wife have decided not to have any children – so you're my last chance."

Parker's face twitched as she felt a quick tightening in her belly, but she dismissed it as nothing when it lasted only a moment. "So Jarod is on his own now, eh? What about the damaged Centre victims list?"

Sydney shook his head. "Actually, I've been processing them faster than I thought. The last transfer to a secured facility happened this morning. I then met with Jarod to hand over the last of my files along with my keys – and he told me the rest of the day was mine. I tossed everything that was of any value to me into a box and left the rest of it for whatever fate awaits all the detritus of forty years of Centre employment."

"It will be nice having you around a little more," she admitted then. "I think Jonathan will enjoy having you around more too."

"He's a sweet child, Parker. Have you thought of adopting him?"

Parker nodded. "I've thought about it – but I figured I'd wait until little Miss Patience here decided to make her entrance before getting any of the legal hoops and ladders lined up." Her hand smoothed over her belly, which had grown even tauter than usual and felt tighter from the inside for a change. "He's already calling me 'Mommy' sometimes, you know, rather than 'Sissy'…"

Sydney nodded. "I've heard it slip out a few times lately – just as I've heard him call Jarod 'Daddy.'" The old psychiatrist gazed at her intently. "How do you feel about that?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't bother me – after all, he is the baby's daddy…" She grimaced and ran her hand over her stomach again in an attempt to get it to relax. The tightness was becoming slightly uncomfortable. "What I DON'T know is how Jarod feels about it."

"You do realize that Jarod will love that baby with all his heart, don't you?" Sydney leaned back in his chair comfortably. "And I have a feeling that if Jonathan starts calling him 'Daddy' to his face, he'll probably accept that too. Jarod's always wanted a family he could call his own…"

"He HAS a family – in California…"

"I know he does," Sydney admitted, "but I think he's always secretly harbored a hope that one day you and he…"

Parker looked down at the table. "And now I'm not the woman he knew," she said softly.

Sydney put his hand out and covered hers warmly. "Parker, whatever Jarod feels, I'm sure he feels it for the person you are now. I don't think he's pinning his willingness to make a life with you on your finally remembering who you are and everything you've been to each other all these years. The fact is that you have a daughter together that will be born soon, and there is a little boy who already looks to him like a father. That's the kind of family I don't know he ever thought he'd be allowed in his lifetime…" His voice fell silent as he watched her grimace once more and go back to rubbing the tight lump in her abdomen. "Are you OK?"

"I'm sorry, Sydney," she told him contritely. "I don't know what's gotten into me…" Suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Oh, my!"

"What is it?" Sydney demanded, concerned.

Slightly frightened grey eyes looked into his. "I think if you want to keep me from having this kid on the kitchen floor after all, you'd better get me into Dover NOW. My water just broke…"

oOoOo

Jarod just couldn't stop staring at Parker with his new daughter at her breast. After all the months of waiting, he was a father for the first time; and he wasn't exactly sure how he felt – about fatherhood, about the baby, about Parker, about a lot of things. And being that uncertain about that much wasn't a feeling Jarod was used to or appreciated much.

The baby had come very quickly – had been delivered, actually, before he'd been able to do much more than extricate himself from his meeting with the stockholders and reschedule his entire next few days' worth of more meetings with lawyers and other officials involved in the dissolution of the Centre. He'd then driven like a bat out of Hell for the hospital in Dover – to be met by a tired but exhilarated Sydney, who had stepped in and performed the duties of a labor coach for her in Jarod's stead. The older man had congratulated him heartily and almost immediately headed back to Blue Cove to take charge of little Jonathan Parker while his big sister was away. That left Jarod to ponder the drastic changes that had taken place in his life of late – the most recent laying almost asleep in her exhausted mother's arms a few paces away – in private.

Nothing in the past few months had been easy or straight-forward. Neither he nor Sydney had been able to uncover the proper memory trigger to counteract the heightened effect the sustained dosage of Formula 837A had had on Parker's amnesia – and Parker herself had finally convinced Jarod and Sydney to just let the matter rest for the time being. She'd moved into the summerhouse they told her was hers and started the long process of making it a home for herself and her little brother.

No longer afraid of the Centre's shadow with all who would want his capture sitting in jail awaiting trial on a number and variety of serious charges, Jarod took a small apartment in Blue Cove to be closer to her without pushing himself forward as anything other than a friend who also happened to be her baby's father – as well as her official representative to the world in matters dealing with the Centre. He'd sent word to his parents and siblings in California as to what had happened and his decision to stick around at least until the baby was born and after the greater share of the lawsuits settled or litigated. While they had complained a little, they had eventually understood – and had even made a short visit three months earlier.

Sydney and Jarod had quietly hoped that having Ethan around for a time might have proved to be the memory key – but it wasn't to be. Parker quickly developed a very close rapport with her half-brother, but otherwise continued to remain in the dark about her former life. Jarod's mother, Margaret, had finally forgiven her son for being so intent on staying in Delaware after seeing the change in his former huntress, and had lent her advice and her memories about pregnancy and motherhood to Parker in a move that brought the two women closer as well. Charles had been gracious to both Parker and Sydney, seeing how Jarod was truly fond of both of these people from his past. Emily had remained skeptical for the entire visit, never really getting comfortable so close to the Centre and amid some of the Centre elite – while Justin had been unabashedly smitten by the woman who had been the first person in his life to have been kind to him.

It had taken them all time to get used to looking at a face that was so familiar, and yet being forced to get to know somebody completely new – completely different. Parker was far more gentle-spoken and patient than MISS Parker had ever thought of being – and more domesticated as well. She had avoided all of the expensive clothing that had once been her trademark in favor of soft cottons and long denim dresses, and expressed a disdain for the three inch stilettos and immediately acquired deck shoes and a small assortment of other flat-soled shoes and sandals. Discovering that food could actually taste GOOD as opposed to the green nutritional supplement the Centre had been feeding her, she had spent time acquiring cook books that she now enjoyed plumbing for meal ideas, rather than being content with take-out and eating constantly in restaurants. Moreover, she discovered that she enjoyed entertaining – and her evening meals were rarely events just for herself a little Jonathan anymore.

As her delivery date had loomed closer, the one person with whom Parker had bonded with the tightest beside Jonathan was Sydney. Freed from pressure to try to find memory keys or to psychoanalyze everything she was going through, Jarod knew for a fact that the silver-haired Belgian had discovered the pleasure of just being there for her in a quasi-parental capacity. Beside Jarod, he was the most likely dinner guest at the summerhouse – and easily as protective and pampering of her as if, as he said, she were his own. Little Jonathan had lately begun calling Sydney 'Grandpa' – and the old man relished that new aspect of life immensely.

Jarod had religiously refrained from trying to insinuate himself closer to her than she was willing to let him get on her own, however. Their friendship was deep and strong – but Jarod always harbored a slight fear that, with all of her deciding for herself about whether she liked this or that, if he tried to press his case with her on the basis of their shared parentage of the child she was carrying, she'd reject him completely. As time went by, he was less and less willing for that to happen. The day she'd made a comment about being as big as a garbage truck and needing a backup alarm to move folks out of her way was the day that he'd discovered that he'd fallen in love with her all over again – with the person that she'd become without her memories and the sweet-sour of their long-standing relationship. And now, sitting there with his daughter born and in her mother's arms, and with the end of the lawsuits his reasons to stay in Delaware beginning in sight, he found himself suddenly wondering what would happen next. He didn't relish walking away…

Parker looked up and saw the Pretender watching her with eyes more intense than she'd ever seen from him before. "You don't have to stay all the way over there," she smiled at him in tired invitation. "She is YOUR daughter, after all…"

"I didn't want to intrude," he said softly, stirring himself from the chair he'd placed by the window in the private room. "You both looked so contented and peaceful."

She shook her head at him and used her free hand to pat the mattress next to her. "You deserve a chance to get close and be introduced," she countered. "Don't be shy."

Jarod perched himself on the very edge of the bed and peered down into the tiny face nestled against Parker's hospital gown. "I didn't think she'd be so small," he whispered so as not to disturb her rest.

"She was over seven pounds," Parker told him proudly. "The doctor said that if I'd actually made it to my due date, she might have been even eight pounds. Believe me, that's not small!"

Very, very carefully, Jarod used the back of his index finger to stroke down the newborn's cheek, drawing back in surprise when the mouth began moving as if she were sucking. This little scrap of life was his – his and Parker's – and he simply couldn't believe it. He'd had over six months to get used to the idea – six months to watch Parker get more and more round and maternal – but now that the moment had arrived and he was face to face with the baby, he was overwhelmed. "You still want to call her Hope?" he asked, entranced.

"The name fits, don't you think," Parker replied, watching his face. "Do you want to hold her for a while?"

Jarod's eyes grew wide and alarmed. "I don't know…" he began, but Parker had already very carefully shifted her little bundle until the baby was in his arms before he knew it. Hope made a soft sound, but didn't awaken. The Pretender held absolutely still, captivated by the smell of the baby, by the little weight against his arm. Finally he raised his eyes to Parker, and they were shining in amazement and a little dazed. "My God, Parker!"

"What do you think, Dad? Do we make nice kids or what?" she grinned at him tiredly.

"Amazing!" was all he could say as he sat next to her, holding their daughter for the first time. "Simply amazing!" He looked over at her again, and their gazes caught and held each other tightly – and in a moment of impulse, he bent carefully over his daughter to give Parker a gentle kiss on the lips. "Thank you," he murmured, still drowning in storm-grey.

Parker smiled softly back at him and allowed one hand to gently cup a cheek, rapt in her contemplation of intense dark chocolate. "Thank you," she replied.

oOoOo

The celebratory meal the next night took place at the Broots' – mostly because the Broots' house had the larger kitchen and the bigger dining table, but also so that Parker didn't have to face cleaning house on top of the exhaustion of taking care of a newborn all hours of the day and night. Broots had brought out his christening gift – a bassinette – but Hope had yet to spend any quality time in it whatsoever. Men who had hovered and pampered and waited with eager anticipation for her arrival had taken turns holding her – and Parker had been amused to watch grown men who were otherwise generally quite serious and mature melt like marshmallows the moment her daughter landed in their arms.

At the moment, it was Sydney's turn – and the old man hadn't taken his eyes off of his new 'granddaughter' from the moment she'd been handed to him. Sitting beside him on the couch, Parker was in a position to see the expression of utter adoration in his eyes as his big hand straightened some of the fine, dark hair, smoothed down the infant's cheek and straightened her gown. On the other side of her, Jarod watched his former mentor and then leaned into Parker's ear. "Watch out - Grandpa's bonding," he whispered, making her snort and then chuckle.

"You had your turn at the hospital," Sydney grumbled very softly at the quip without looking away.

"That is going to be one spoiled kid," Sam shook his head indulgently. He resolutely refused to consider that it had been HE who had walked and rocked the fussy baby so that Parker could eat her dinner quickly before having to duck into kitchen to nurse. He'd only done what was necessary, after all, to see to Miss Parker's well-being – nothing more. No spoiling was involved there at all – no siree!

"Why not? She deserves all the things that Parker and I never had," Jarod stated emphatically, "and I intend to make sure she has them."

"You mean you're not going to head back to California to be with your family, now that the Centre is nearly all boarded up and empty?" Broots asked with eyebrows flying.

Jarod saw Parker's head turn to watch his reaction, and he shot her a quick glance. "I'm going to be sticking around for a while yet," he admitted. "California isn't going anywhere."

"Uh-oh." Sydney turned toward Parker as Hope began to stir and make sounds indicating displeasure. "Time to go back to Momma."

"Yup, she's every two hours, like clockwork," Broots stated, peeking at his watch and then looking over at Parker sympathetically. "Until she starts sleeping through the night, she's going to give you a run for your money."

"I've got a nice, comfortable rocking chair in my room," Debbie suggested as Parker rose with Hope draped over a shoulder, working up to a healthy cry. "You can rest at the same time as you feed her."

"You're on," Parker replied tiredly. Broots was right – this every two hours thing was getting very old very fast. She reached for the diaper bag, knowing that to be an inevitable necessity at some point in the process as well. "Lead the way."

Parker carried Hope up the stairs while hearing the gentle teasing that Jarod was getting about not heading back to California faded into the distance. Debbie had the light on in her room by the time Parker hit the top of the stairs, and she took the diaper bag and retrieved supplies as Parker began to unbundle her daughter. The young woman watched Parker expertly handle getting the drenched diaper off and a fresh one on with a minimum of time and fuss. "You're starting to look like you've done that for ages," she commented with a smile. "Nobody'd believe that you'd never babysat at all before you took care of me anymore…"

"I'm finding out one learns this in self-defense," Parker responded, shoving the dirty diaper in a plastic bag for disposal later and stowing it with the rest of the supplies. She took out the blanket she'd wrapped Hope in for the trip outside and carried it over to the rocking chair, then draped it over her shoulder so she could nurse her daughter without fear of embarrassing herself or someone else if they should walk in on her. As Hope latched on with a ferocity that spoke of a good appetite, Parker sighed and rocked in the chair gently.

"You look tired," Debbie noted sympathetically.

"She seems determined to put me through my paces," Parker replied with a nod. "She's like her father – always in a hurry."

Debbie thought for a moment and then went over to her desk to retrieve something. "You know," she began a little shyly, "I was thinking you might want this back now. You can read it to her when she gets a little older."

Parker looked at the thick book in her hands and then up at Debbie. "What is it?"

"Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott," Debbie replied. "When you took care of me that first time, you began to read it to me – and it was so nice…"

"Tell you what," Parker stated, making herself just a bit more comfortable in the sturdy, wooden chair, "why don't you read a little bit of it to me? I could use something to help me relax without putting me to sleep at the moment…"

"OK," Debbie replied, and sat down on the edge of her bed facing her guest. She opened the book to the very beginning. "Chapter One. 'Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents,' grumbled Jo," she began reading, just as Miss Parker had once done for her so many years ago. It was one of her own favorite memories of years past – hopefully it would be as restful for Miss Parker now as it had been for her then. "'It's so dreadful to be poor!' sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. 'I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,' added little Amy, with an injured sniff."

Parker leaned her head back against the wood of the rocking chair and closed her eyes. Debbie was right, having someone read to her WAS relaxing.

"'We've got Father and Mother, and each other,' said Beth contentedly from her corner." Debbie's soft voice continued. "The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, 'We haven't got Father, and shall not have him for a long time.' She didn't say 'perhaps never,' but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was..."

It took a moment for Parker to notice that the voice reciting the words from the thick book had changed – modulated in her mind – the voice speaking had become deeper, older, gentler. It was a voice she hadn't heard for a very long time… All of a sudden her eyes opened wide, and it took great concentration not to tighten her hold on her daughter to the point of doing her harm. That was her MOTHER'S voice!

Then she was glad her head was against the wood of the chair, for her world sudden tipped and twisted and turned this way and that as voices from her past forced themselves into her mind relentlessly:

"Trust me, Angel…"

"I tell you what – when I die, I'll will you my shirts…"

"It can only be 'you run, I chase,' just like always…"

"Miss Parker, are you all right?"

"Momma! Momma!"

"Have you always been so mean?"

"Yes."

"No, you haven't…"

"Broots! You lovable moron! We're in here!"

"The first one to succeed, survives."

"Who ya gonna trust, Angel – Jarod, or me?"

"He's not here, Miss Parker…"

"C'mon, Syd – let's go see what your trained monkey is up to this time."

"You might want to strip-search this one…"

"Don't you just LOVE Chinese food?"

"What did he ask you to do Parker? Kill him?!"

"Don't you even want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Don't you have anything better to do than to dig in the past?"

"Easy thing for you to say – at least you have one…"

"Momma!"

"Miss Parker?" A hand landed on her arm, and she opened her eyes to see a very worried-looking Debbie had moved close. "Miss Parker! Why are you crying?"

That was right – her face was drenched from tears that had evidently flowed freely down her cheeks and even down her neck. She brought out her free hand from beneath the blanket and began wiping at them. "Do me a favor, Debbie?"

"Sure – what do you need?"

"Ask Sydney to come up here for a bit?"

Debbie frowned, but: "OK. Are you SURE you're all right?"

Parker worked hard and pasted on a fragile smile. "I'll be fine, Debbie, honest. Just go get Sydney for me, will you?"

The moment the door had closed again, Parker put her head back against the wood of the chair and heaved a huge sigh. At her breast, Hope cooed and caught her attention – and she shifted herself so that the baby could nurse more efficiently, and then began to slowly shake her head at the impossibility of it all.

It just wasn't possible! That Raines and that slime-ball of a brother of hers would… It took work to remember that they were now behind bars, if not awaiting a date with Madame Death. They had stolen so much – and what they'd done to her in the meantime. How could they…

And yet, as the baby suckled rhythmically and that pulling echoed through her body, she calmed and cradled her newborn closer. This wasn't an experience that she would have missed for anything – regardless of how it had come about. For the first time, she understood the intense and protective love her mother had shown her all that time – understood it because she felt it too, for Hope.

Very quickly, her mind reviewed the events of the last six months – and she looked at her actions and reactions in order to measure whether now she agreed or disagreed with the path she'd chosen. Strangely enough, even with her memories now firmly in place and open to review, there wasn't a thing that she regretted. She would have loved to have known what she was doing when she'd testified against that bastard, Raines – but knowing he'd never bother her or hers again was satisfaction enough. To know that neither she, nor Syd, nor Broots, nor Sam, nor even Jarod, had to step lightly for fear of what would come down from the Tower at them was almost a painful release. She was free.

There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door, and then Sydney carefully stuck his head around the corner. "Debbie told me you asked for me?" he stated with concern, his eyes on her face for the signs of tears that Debbie had said were everywhere. Yes, her eyes were puffy – her face had that look of emotional overload to it. What had happened now?

"Come in, Syd, sit down," she said, gesturing with the hand that had come out from beneath the blanket for him to take the place that Debbie had occupied on the edge of the bed. She wiped again at her eyes.

Sydney blinked at an old nickname he hadn't heard from her for a while and then moved into the room. "Parker?"

Storm-grey eyes came up to meet his, and he could see warmth and happiness and triumph and hesitation all rolling around together in their depths. "Hi, Syd," she replied in a soft voice that held a special tone that he hadn't heard for nearly a year.

"My God!" He sat down heavily on the bed in shock. "You remember?" She nodded and then busied herself with closing up her blouse and putting Hope on her shoulder after putting the blanket up there for protection. "After all this time – what in the Hell…"

"Debbie started reading from the book my mother gave me just before her stunt in the elevator," Parker explained with a small sigh. "It just started piling on from there."

Sydney watched her carefully as she patiently rubbed her newborn daughter's back to work out all the air bubbles, seeing the beginnings of an amazing amalgam of the incredibly strong survivor that she'd always been with the soft and gentle person he'd become accustomed to seeing lately. "Are you all right?" was the only question that he could think of, as inadequate as he knew it was.

"No," she replied, her eyes meeting his. "Because just as I didn't know any of you for the longest time, now I won't know who you're responding to – the person I've been for the last six to seven months, or ME."

Sydney crossed his arms over his chest reflectively. "Something tells me that you haven't quite figured out who you are yet either," he noted pointedly. "You told me once, not long after we got you out of the Centre, that the person you had been and the person you were then had nothing in common. Do you still feel that way?"

She looked away. "I don't know how I feel yet," she admitted carefully.

"What about Hope?"

Parker lifted her daughter away from her shoulder and held her out so she could get her first really GOOD look at her, and then clutched the baby close to her again. "I felt her grow inside me, Syd. What do you think?"

"Just making sure," he smiled at her. "I'm just protecting my own here…"

"Are you, Sydney?" she asked softly and very cautiously. "Did you really mean what you said when I climbed out of that ventilation duct?"

Sydney rose and walked over to her. "Parker, I meant every word of it – I'd just never had the courage to speak it in so many words before. I didn't regret saying it then, and I don't regret having to say it again now – if that's what you need." He put out his hand and stroked her hair gently to punctuate his words. "You are the daughter I never had – and Hope is my grandchild and as precious to me as a jewel."

Parker leaned forward slightly and rested her forehead against his side. Had he always felt that way – and she just hadn't seen it? His closeness and comfort now suggested it – but would have to be left for later contemplation. First things first… "I suppose I should tell Jarod…"

"Yes," his voice rippled with amusement at the very typically Miss Parker way she had approached that question, even as his hand sheltered her head against him, "I suppose you should."

"It will change things." She remembered that gentle, brief kiss in the hospital and wondered if she'd ever get a chance to try that again. Six months of being friend and co-parent with Jarod had worked their magic – and combined with her remembering the way she'd felt about him all along, she was already preparing herself for disappointment and rejection.

Sydney bent down to look her directly in the eye, his hand warm on her shoulder now. "No it won't," he stated firmly. "It hasn't yet. He's still here – and talking about not leaving after all."

"But that was for her," she complained sadly, speaking of her amnesia-ridden self.

"That's for YOU," Sydney insisted. "Just wait, and you'll see I'm right." He backed off and gave Parker his hand so she could pull herself from the rocker. "He's taking you home tonight, isn't he?"

"Yes…"

"Then you'll find out quickly enough whether it matters." He put his arm around her. "But now, we need to go share your good news with the others."

Parker nodded, took a deep breath and leaned into him carefully so as not to disturb a quietly watchful Hope as he steered her toward the short hallway and stairs back down to rejoin the others. In a way, it felt like she'd be meeting all these people all over again for another first time – but she knew that no matter what, they'd be there for her. Just like always.

This was truly a day for celebration.

oOoOo

"I got the diaper bag," Jarod announced after pulling his sports car to a halt in front of Parker's summer house, "and Jonathan - you get Hope." He pulled his driver's seat forward and reached for the small boy who had fallen asleep in his booster. "C'mon, Tiger," he called and roused the child enough to put his arms around the man's neck and cling as he was dragged from the car.

Parker could help but smile as she carefully unstrapped her child from the infant seat that Jarod had bought and installed in the tiny back seat area of his performance sports car. He'd gotten both child seats without telling her – even though he knew she'd purchased a set for her own sedan. Sydney had told her the signs were all around her – perhaps they were, and she'd been missing them all this time.

"Can I offer you some tea before you go," she asked, punching in the alarm code and then inserting her key in the lock. "Just let me get her settled down…"

"You don't have to fuss," he told her, following her into the house and depositing the diaper bag in the place that seemed to be its resting place between jaunts before continuing on.

"It's no fuss," she shook her head as she walked down the short hall toward the guest room that had been turned into a nursery. "You got him?"

"Yup. One small boy, just about completely out," Jarod chuckled as he stopped in the bedroom before that one and carefully dumped his burden onto the bed. "Time for bed, Jon-Jon," he soothed as he peeled away sneakers and socks and jeans and tee shirts from a child who, for all intents and purposes, was already sound asleep; and then tucked him in without bothering with the pajamas beneath the pillow. One night's sleep as a he-man in his undies on a warm, summer night wouldn't hurt the boy at all.

The light was still on in the nursery, and Jarod walked into the room to find Parker staring down at her daughter who lay fast asleep in her crib. He walked up behind her, knowing that she'd noticed his approach, and put his hands on her shoulder and looked down at the sleeping infant with her. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" he asked softly.

"A lot of things are hard to believe," she agreed, surprised at the assumption of intimacy on his part, "including suddenly remembering everything after all this time."

He smoothed his hands down her arm gently. "How about that tea?" he reminded her, thinking that the discussion that needed to take place would best happen somewhere other than in the baby's room.

Parker nodded and moved away from those warm hands on her shoulders, leading the way down the stairs and to the back of the house. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable," she stated as she moved to fill the teakettle with water and put it on the stove.

Jarod watched her bustle around, compiling a teapot in preparation for boiling water and pulling down two mugs from the cupboard. "We need to talk," he said quietly and firmly.

"I know."

A long moment passed in silence. Then, "I need to know what you want."

Her shoulders hunched for a moment. "Even if I'm not sure what it is that I want yet?"

He paused to consider, realizing her question was a valid one. "How about telling me what you DON'T want?"

"What I don't want," she repeated, moving to a chair opposite him and sitting down. "That isn't easy either."

"You must have SOME idea…"

"At least give me credit for not being an emotional basket-case, for Christ's sake, willya?" she barked at him. "I still haven't exactly figured out who I am yet – because I know I'm not who I was walking into this mess, and I'm damned sure that I'm not the Molly Milquetoast you rescued."

"Even without your memories, you were no Molly Milquetoast," Jarod countered defensively. "You stood up for yourself when you felt the need – THAT much of your natures didn't change."

"You know what I mean…" she sighed.

"And you know what I mean," he shot back. "Now that Hope is here, we need to decide a few, very important things…"

"Like whether or not you go back to California when the Centre finally closes its doors for good."

He nodded slowly. "That's part of it," he admitted.

Storm-grey came up to gaze at him steadily, and yet Jarod could see real apprehension in their depths. "If I wanted you to stick around…"

"I would," he finished for her, "but not just as a friend."

She continued to look at him. "What do YOU want, Jarod?"

His lips quirked into a slight smile. "You know – you've always known."

Parker blushed and looked away. "Just because I gave you a daughter…"

"That isn't it and you know it," he interrupted with a rude gesture that wiped away her thought. "It's never been about your just being pregnant with my child, Parker."

"Is there more than that, Jarod – really?"

He gazed at her intently. "Do you want there to be?"

The teakettle chose that moment to begin the prelude to a full boiling scream, and Parker rose to tend to her tea. "I think…" she said as she carefully filled the ceramic pot.

"Yes…"

"That I'd like to see if there is." She carried the pot and mugs to the table. "This has to sit for a few moments…"

"That seems to be a pattern," Jarod quipped, then turned serious again. "I'd like to try too – if you'll let me. I just don't want to force you…"

"God, Jarod, you had your chance to force me for the last six months and haven't – I seriously doubt that you'll try now that I have ALL my wits about me!"

As she watched, his face lightened and his lips twitched again in irrepressible humor. "This could prove interesting."

"To say the least," she returned.

"Sydney will be thrilled."

"Syd's a cupcake – and a closet romantic. I just never knew how much of one."

"Sam will be disappointed."

"Sam?" she sputtered and chuckled at the same time. "You're dreaming!"

"Then there's Broots and his crush…"

"You sound jealous," she observed pointedly, picking up the pot and pouring into first one mug and then the other.

"I can be very jealous," he replied, his voice several notes lower. She looked up sharply and was impaled by the intensity of his gaze. "When it comes to you, I could be quite possessive. Are you ready for that?"

Finally she let loose her own burgeoning emotions – feelings that she knew she'd been denying to herself for years but had admitted only a few days ago to her less-repressed amnesiac self. "And you don't think that I could be the same way?"

Slowly he rose to his feet and walked over to her and, taking both her hands in his, pulled her to her feet. "All or nothing, Parker," he warned. "I don't have it in me after everything that's happened to do this half-way.

Her eyes flashed in the same way they always had when confronted with a challenge – and then began to sparkle with a light of their own. "Since when have you ever known me to do ANYthing halfway?"

He gazed at her and then let his lips touch hers very gently, very briefly, very reminiscent of the kiss he'd given her the day before – and then caressed her cheek gently before setting her away from him physically. The time for more than that would be later – when she'd recovered from giving birth and from having her memories restored to her. For now, it was enough to know that doors between them previously closed had been unlocked and propped open.

"Sit down and drink your tea, Parker," he told her with a gentle smile, "and then I think I'll be off. You're tired and could use what little rest you're going to get before Hope wakes up again – and I could use the rest myself. Something tells me that tomorrow will be a very interesting day – and the start of a very interesting new chapter in my life."

"OUR lives," she corrected archly and retreated to her seat. She raised her tea mug. "A toast: to turning points taken at last."

And the clink of ceramic against ceramic spoke volumes.

FIN

**A/N:** I would like to express my gratitude to my regular reviewers: Doranwen, Nancy, GimmeABeat, whashaza, Katescats. After not posting to FFN for all this time, it is nice to see this place still active.

The next story that will begin to appear here, starting next Saturday, will be Out In The Cold. So stay tuned...

-MMB


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